


Both hands tied

by silvervelour



Series: Both hands tied [1]
Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Ass Play, Breathplay, Edging, F/F, Fisting, Humiliation, Knifeplay, Light Bondage, Too Many Kinks to List, cam girl trixie au, katya’s her roommate, strap ons!, trixie’s a brat, watersports!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-03-31 21:39:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13983837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvervelour/pseuds/silvervelour
Summary: Her breasts are full and perky, though she knows that they’ve settled a little since they first sprouted when she was no more than fourteen, as is her ass that shakes with each step, every movement. The cellulite of her thighs is tantalising to her - she knows it is to other people too - and she giggles to herself as she slaps her free hand down onto one of them, watches it ripple in time with her reflection.Trixie’s giggles turn into brazen chuckles as she finishes the joint quicker than she would have liked, and then she’s turning back around, spotting her laptop that’s still sat open on her bed. The piece of technology mocks her, before it’s drawing her in, forcing her to switch it on with a knowing, sly grin.She looks good, and wants people to know it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this was born as a direct result of the irritatingly wonderful @sunnatly’s ask on tumblr, followed by a string of horny anons.
> 
> thank you to everybody that’s kept me motivated whilst writing this, i low key really love it, and hope you do too! 
> 
> i won’t say anything more, but read with caution. i had to get this out of my system. 
> 
> (jigsaw ice cream cones will be resumed asap!!)<3

Trixie can feel sweat pouring down her brow.

It’s the height of summer; mid June in the middle of Los Angeles and Trixie thinks that she might _die_ if the sweltering heat continues. She hasn’t stopped melting all day, under the glowing orb in the sky that she swears is out to get her, and her taxi cab driver that had refused to open a window in the stuffy, cramped space of the worn down ‘ _95 Honda Civic._

Trixie had naturally refused to tip.

It’s been hours, but she’s stood in the elevator on the way up to her apartment, cursing the old rickety building for its lack of air conditioning and the horrific music that they insist on pumping through the speakers.

It hurts her ears, despite the relatively low volume, and she’s left twisting her hand in the fabric of her dress that hands at her side, pools around her thighs. The material is warm against her skin - it’s the middle of summer and Trixie hates how it sticks to her back and chest - as is her hair that’s blanketing her shoulders irritatingly.

Trixie wants nothing more than to throw it up into a make shift pony tail, but knows that if she messes with the natural part of her hair then it’ll never return to how she likes it until she washes it again. It’s a hassle that she’s not prepared for, and she instead wills herself to focus on her breathing as the lights on the wall of the elevator tick upwards.

Five. _Six_. Seven. _Eight_.

Her apartments on the ninth floor.

She thinks momentarily that taking the stairs would have been quicker - the elevator has decided to climb slower than it ever has before - but then she’s reminded of the grocery bags that she’s clutching in her hands, from the weight that’s pulling down on her arms.

They ache from the heat and the effort not to let go of paper bag handles, and she’s grateful when the red light flashes around the number nine, allowing the doors to stutter open to her floor. she steps out into the corridor that’s more humid than both the elevator and the air outside; she can already feel her hair frizzing and her pores opening.

Her feet carry her to her door, where she knocks one, and then twice, prays that her roommate is home because she’s not about to rummage around in her purse for her keys if she doesn’t have to. She waits, almost groans audibly when she thinks that her roommate must be out, but then the doors cracking open, and her Katya’s poking her head through the gap.

“Oh!, _Trixie!_ ”.

Her voice is too chipper for Trixie’s ears. It’s high pitched and energetic, and Trixie’s not in the mood for the excited ramblings of her friend that are bound to begin the instant she steps foot through the door. She has half a mind to up and run the instant that Katya’s eyes lock with hers; they’re red and bloodshot and Trixie already knows that she’s higher than the airplane that she can hear coasting above their apartment building.

Trixie’s not prepared to deal with it.

“Let me in, god damn it”. She grunts, shoves herself past Katya and into the kitchen.

There are two fans sitting on the countertop, both switched onto the highest setting and blasting a cool breeze towards Trixie. It’s calming, and she sighs into the chill, sets the four grocery bags down next to said fans.

The wind causes the bags to crinkle noisily as Katya locks the door behind them, and Trixie’s tuning out every sound apart from the whirring of her heartbeat in her mind as she braces herself against the kitchen cabinets, allows herself to exhale exhaustedly.

She can feel her breasts sinking in the confines of her dress as Katya follows her to the kitchen, begins unpacking the grocery bags mechanically. She sets the apples in the fruit bowl and the loaf of bread in the bread bin, before she stacks the fridge with cartons of juice and milk.

Trixie’s thankful that Katya’s taken initiative, is happily loading the cupboard next to Trixie with packs of chocolate chip and raisin cookies that Trixie knows Katya hates from the grimace that clouds her face. It makes Trixie laugh, but then she’s brought back to the warmth of the room when the fan rotates away from her, points itself towards the dishwasher that doesn’t need it, Trixie scoffs.

She huffs, and stands up straight.

“Did you forget your key or somethin’?”. Katya questions.

She’s humming a nonsensical tune that Trixie doesn’t care for - she’s quickly grown tired of the blondes zany attitude - and comes to stand opposite Trixie once she’s unloaded all of the bags, crumpled them up into balls and stashed them in their recycling bin.

“Key was in my bag, couldn’t get it”. Trixie sulks.

She’s being petulant and she knows it, though swears that she’ll make it up to Katya by making the cupcakes that she enjoys so much when she’s more coherent, less weathered. They have all the ingredients in order to do so.

“ _Right_ ”.

Rolling her eyes, Katya lifts herself up onto the empty countertop. She crosses her legs, wiggles her foot up and down mid air so that Trixie’s forced to stare at it, her red painted toe nails that are chipping at the edges. Trixie knows that the polish has been on too long - she’d painted them for Katya over a month ago and doesn’t understand why she hadn’t taken it off yet - and thinks that Katya knows it too, from the way her face scrunches up at the sight of it.

“Long day?”. Katya adds.

Trixie looks like she’s either about to cry or push Katya off of the counter, and Katya’s cowering under her gaze that’s piercing, deathly. Katya wants to look away, but can’t when Trixie’s visibly deflating once again, her shoulders slumping and eyebrows furrowing.

“It’s the hottest day of the year and I had three classes in rooms where the air conditioning was switched off-“. Trixie groans.

“-Can you believe the audacity of this college? _Hm_? Can you, Katya?”. Trixie’s seething.

Katya doesn’t know how to respond.

She shrugs her shoulders, uncrosses her legs so that her thighs are splayed out on the granite of the counter top. It’s cold against her skin, and she contemplates suggesting that Trixie should join her on the frigid slab when Trixie’s forehead continues to bead with sweat. She doesn’t, however, because Trixie’s running her fingers through her hair, leaning into the fan that’s back blowing in her direction.

It sends her hair cascading behind her, down her back and to the strap of her bra that she wants to rip off; she doesn’t know why she chose to wear it in the first place. It’s uncomfortable, and she can already sense the indentations that it’s bound to have left on her sun kissed skin, the lines and the crease marks.

Trixie doesn’t want them there.

She needs to shower, wants to douse her body in her favourite scrubs and lotions until she feels like Trixie again; all pristine yet filthy in her favourite lingerie that she has stored away in her chest of drawers. It’s pink and lacy, skimpy and alluring, and is just what she needs after the day she’s had.

It’s been hell, admittedly, and seemingly the complete opposite to Katya’s classless day. The girl looks calm, zen, and Trixie thinks that she might fall asleep standing up when she’s walking towards the fridge, pulling out a beer and cracking it open on the edge of the counter top that’s ruined from the amount of times that she’s done it over the course of the past three years.

Trixie’s beginning to loathe it.

She thinks that Katya’s gathered the mood that she’s in - short tempered and irksome - when Katya looks on pitifully, nods towards the tobacco tin that sits next to Trixie on the countertop.

“There’s a joint left if you want it, I’m good for now”. Katya points out.

Trixie responds simply with a polite thank you - she needs the joint and Katya knows it - and scratches at her elbow that’s itching from the prickliness of the heat. Trixie hates it; with every second that she dawdles she can feel her body weakening further, and doesn’t think twice before she’s picking up aforementioned tobacco tin, kicking off her shoes in the middle of the kitchen and making her way down the hallway towards her room.

“Trixie, _wait_ , you idiot-“. Katya calls after her.

Screwing up her face impatiently, Trixie turns back around.

She knows that Katya’s actions hold no malice, but she’s tired, over worked, and needs the comfort of her room, her bed sheets and familiar surroundings to sooth the effects of the day. Katya looks apologetic, like she can see each thought that runs through Trixie’s mind being projected onto the off-white ceilings, and crosses the room to stand in front of Trixie once again.

“We should go out tonight-“. Katya tries.

“-Pick up some food downtown?”.

Her tone is hopeful, as is the tentative smile upon her face that diminishes quickly when Trixie shakes her head dismally, breathes agitatedly out through her flared nostrils.

 _No_.

“I just ‘wanna- _no_ , not tonight”. Trixie affirms.

Katya looks disappointed, shaken, with her eyes wide as if she’d expected Trixie to comply wordlessly. She hadn’t, really - she knows Trixie’s entitled to do as she pleases - and forces herself to smile understandingly, regardless of the defeat that’s growing in her stomach.

She knows that Trixie’s had a bad day, though she can’t recall when Trixie had last been this vacant, as withdrawn as she appears to be simply at the sight of Katya or the sound of her voice. It leaves Katya not knowing where she stands, so she tries again; futilely.

“Maybe tomorrow?”.

“ _Katya_ ”.

Katya knows not to push her any further.

She takes a step backwards, gives Trixie the space that she knows she needs. Trixie’s face doesn’t soften at the distance, and it’s how Katya knows that Trixie’s on the brink of cracking, is cursing her out in her mind that’s swimming with rivers of disturbance as upheaval.

“Ok, alright. I think I’m ‘gonna go out with Sasha anyway. Enjoy your night, I guess”.

Katya walks away.

*****

Trixie slumps into her bedroom with legs that feel like deadweights.

She feels like she been drained of every ounce of energy that she’s ever possessed, every atom of her being that used to be driven and motivated. It’s left her shaken; she’s never been as bothered as she was by Katya’s company in the three years that she’s known her, and has never had the urge that she had been met with to yank viciously on the strands of Katya’s hair until her eyes water.

Part of her thinks that it’s because of the day she’s had, whilst the sane section of her mind tells her that it’s _no excuse._

She knows that she should be ashamed, for taking out her misfortunes on one of the people that she values most in her life, that consists of manoeuvring her way around her shoebox apartment and attending classes that she doesn’t even know if she holds interest in, anymore.

Her days drone on endlessly, and she’s beginning to doubt her patience when she’s reminded of the amount of essays she has left to write and turn in, all centred on play writers and their works that she’s never understood. She loves musical theatre, but remains hostile to the mechanics behind it that have left her automatically retreating into herself whenever she hears the names _Menken, Sondheim, Schwartz._

Trixie sighs melodramatically, hinges open the tobacco tin.

She takes out the joint, sets it down on her bed side drawers that are littered with hair elastics and half burnt tea lights, and stands to cross the room to locate her lighter. She begins stripping herself of her clothing as she goes - there’s not much to take off, a meagre dress and underwear - and is stood naked by the time that she’s facing her desk.

Her reflection stares back at her in the mirror that’s propped there - she knows she looks good, doesn’t dare linger on the curves of her body for too long - and she reaches behind it to pick up her lighter.

She ignites the joint with one flick, two flicks of the worn down flint, and begins inhaling each hit steadily. The buzz takes over her body instantaneously; she can’t remember the last time she had smoked, and the effects show when she finds herself raking her eyes over her tanned body in the mirror that she swore she wouldn’t pay anymore attention.

There are grooves in her skin left by her clothing that still haven’t vanished, faded to nothing, as well as a light sunburn that’s stamped on her chest and shoulders. It burns, itches, but the tingling vanishes when Trixie takes a step backwards, positions the entirety of her being in the mirrors frame.

Her breasts are full and perky, though she knows that they’ve settled a little since they first sprouted when she was no more than fourteen, as is her ass the shakes with each step, every movement. The cellulite of her thighs is tantalising to her - she knows it is to other people too - and she giggles to herself as she slaps her free hand down onto one of them, watches it ripple in time with her reflection.

Trixie’s giggles turn into brazen chuckles as she finishes the joint quicker than she would have liked, and then she’s turning back around, spotting her laptop that’s still sat open on her bed. The piece of technology mocks her, before it’s drawing her in, forcing her to switch it on with a knowing, sly grin.

She looks _good_ , and wants people to know it.

Trixie makes her way towards her set of drawers at the side of her bed, digs beneath a handful of disguised sweaters and to her collection of toys. She knows what she wants - what she needs - and is wrapping her hand around the base of her thickest dildo with a devilish grin.

Kneeling, she sets it down on her bed before she’s retrieving her favourite plug, too. She has three, but the one that she prefers is the most enticing combination of the other two; big enough to stretch her the tiniest amount but pink and pretty and _sparkling_. It’s shaped like a heart at the end, as is the suction cup base of the dildo that she just needs inside of her already, or ten minutes ago.

It’s the best stress reliever that she owns, along with her cordless wand vibrator that she continues searching for. She has it tucked away in the back of the bottom drawer - she’s not going to risk misplacing it for anything - and fishes it out with a whimper when the familiar feeling of the silicone head comes in contact with her palm.

She sets it down on the bed next to her dildo, though stands on shaky legs and makes her way to the bathroom with her plug in hand. She still needs to shower, and wants to slip it in to her hole that’s still sore from the force that she fucked herself with the night before, with her pink glass dildo, under the warm trickle of the steady stream of water that causes her skin to flush.

Her mind is hazy, but she switches on the shower with a practiced ease, places her plug down delicately onto one of the many shelves the line her shower wall. She picks up her shower gel of choice - lavender scented and bubbly - and squeezes it generously into her already slippery palm.

The scent is immediately calming.

She rubs it across her stomach, firstly, over the slight mound that protrudes beneath her navel, and then up towards her shoulders. She digs her fingertips into the planes of her shoulder blades, feels them flex and twist beneath her touch. It releases some of the tension that she knows that they hold, refuse to let go of, but it’s not enough - could never make her feel serene like a good fuck does - and she’s lowering her hands to her breasts.

They’re tender to the touch, like they always are on the days before her period begins, but for once she’s grateful for the pain that sears through to her bones.

It keeps her on her toes.

Trixie knows that they look a little fuller than they usually do - they’re swollen to the extent that she’s spilling out of her bras that barely contain her on most occasions - and is more than aware that her nipples have the ability to get hard at the slightest touch.

She’s proven right when she ghost the tips of her fingers across them, feels the dark pink buds puckering against the pads of her thumbs. It sends a shiver coursing down her spine, and draws a whimper from her already parted lips that are dripping with a combination of drool and warm water from the shower head.

Her nipples have always been sensitive; she’s able to come just from pinching, tweaking them if she’s worked herself up enough on days where she wants a gentler, more subdued orgasm.

It’s nice, sometimes, but it’s not something that she wants today when her core is already throbbing with desire that needs to be quelled by a delicious stretch and strong vibrations.

Trixie _needs_ it.

She begins trailing her hands further down her body at the thought, over her stomach and down to her thighs, where she ensures that the lukewarm water is doing its job in washing away all of the soap suds. She watches as the lathered bubbles flood down the drain, and listens to the gurgle of the pipes of the old apartment as they send the water waste to be recycled in their backyard.

The noise is distracting, but she doesn’t care when she’s bringing her hands back up again, tangling the fingers of one hand in the trimmed pubic hair that spreads from thigh to thigh; all golden blonde and glistening with wetness.

It has her whimpering wordlessly, craning her neck and resting her head on the algid tiled wall of the shower. She rests her arching back against it too, and closes her eyes with a mewl as she slides two fingers either side of her puffy lips.

They’re as swollen as her breasts are, and she can’t help her hips that bare down onto one hand, against her trimmed nails of the other that drag against her trembling thigh. She works to avoid her clit - knows that if she touches it then she’s going to come too soon - and instead glides two fingers down to her hole that’s soaking, clenching around thin air.

Trixie’s never been this wet after smoking before; she’s normally left high and dry and has to douse herself in lube to fuck herself like she craves. She thinks it’s maddening, how her fingers slip in and out with ease, until she’s fingering herself leisurely and bumping her ass against the ceramic tiles.

The cold is a definitive contrast to the temperature of her body that’s sky rocketing - she can feel it on her skin and inside of herself, the warmth that radiates off of her tightening walls - and moans openly into the quiet.

She hopes and prays that Katya’s left the apartment when her voice cracks hoarsely, though pushes it to the locker in the back of her mind when she reminds herself that Katya wouldn’t care, anyway.

The walls of their home are tissue paper thin, and Trixie’s heard Katya touching herself or fucking her newest catch multiple times when she didn’t want to. She’s certain that Katya’s heard her too - thinks that she couldn’t not have throughout the course of three years - and continues curling her fingers inside of herself until she’s on the brink of coming.

Trixie retracts her hand begrudgingly.

She hasn’t gotten herself off in days - she’s been edging herself to the demands of her viewers - and doesn’t plan on ruining it by fucking herself in a shower where the waters run cold. She switches off the stream of water, sighs in order to calm her heavy breathing when she reaches for her glimmering plug that’s still sat on the shelf.

Her fingers wrap around the bulbous end; it’s made of metal and sits chilled, heavy in her palm that’s quivering with the knowledge that it’s going to be inside of her soon, filling her up. She rubs her thumb across the tapered tip in an attempt to make the temperature less jarring, and rotates her body to prop her front up against the tiled wall when she thinks that she’s done an adequate job.

She shivers slightly, but doesn’t halt her movements. Her hand drags the plug across her ass cheeks, and then between them, until she can feel the object pressing against her hole. It’s clenches reflexively, but Trixie knows that the plug will slip in with ease - it couldn’t not due to the way she had fucked herself the day prior - and pushes on the gem stone stopper until her body sucks it in zealously.

It’s a dull feeling of fullness that she adores, and she’s pressing her head into the wall with a groan when her stomach flutters, threatens to betray the mantra in her head that’s changing _don’t come don’t come don’t come_.

She knows she’s not going to; she’s trained herself well enough, to the extent that she’s able to step out of the shower seconds later, the plug still nestled tightly in her ass. It burns inexplicably as she walks, exits her bathroom and waddles to her bedroom where she’s free to shake her hair from the half hearted braid and pull on her underwear of choice.

A pale pink bra and thong.

The thong hugs her hips temptingly, and the bra pushes her breasts up so that her cleavage is made even more pronounced than it usually is; Trixie doesn’t know how it’s possible. Her nipples harden against the mesh fabric, protrude through the thin material that she already can’t wait to strip off for her audience of sexually elevated women that pay for her pleasure, or sometimes torture.

Trixie crosses the room once again to sit on her bed. She kneels to begin with, then allows her thighs to collapse so that they splay over her calves that are tensing with the effort not to fall forwards into the mattress. It’s a comfortable enough position for the time being, she decides, when she’s leaning to switch on her laptop, type in her login details that are engrained in her mind.

The image of herself has her keening as soon as it loads on the screen. She looks otherworldly - she has her bed sheets smoothed out evenly, star shaped fairy lights switched on in the dimly lit room - and is clicking the button that begins her live broadcast before she has the chance to register her arousal that’s _building building building._

Her screen flashes red twice, and the comments flood.

Trixie’s ready.

She revels in the amount of people who compliment her as soon as she fluffs her hair, basks in the ambience of the warm lighting and heightened atmosphere, her indolent nature and her breasts that she pushes together with her arms.

A flirtatious giggle leaves her lips. Her eyes roam over all of the messages that have been sent to the chat so far; an amalgamation of endearing sweet nothings and brutal descriptions of how individuals want to bend Trixie over her lap, fuck her into submission.

**Butchnymph: hey baby, missed you**

**AlexB93: _Trixie you little slut, back already? Is your ass still sore from yesterday? I bet it is. You fucked yourself so hard for us, didn’t you? I hope you didn’t come without permission again angel xx_**

**Dykeloverr: _I like your bra today!! I want it!! <3_**

**Red666: _Hi! New viewer here but god, you’re gorgeous. I’d rail that as so damn hard. So. Damn. Hard._**

**Girlsgoneoscarwilde: _Would you show us your ass? I wanna see if you’ve got your big plug in this time_**

**Silksinner19: _Yes! Show us that beautiful ass of yours you whore, we don’t tip you for nothing_**

Trixie flicks her hair behind her shoulders, so that it flows down her back and tickles the waist band of her thong that’s ridden up. She contemplates tying it back in to an elastic momentarily, but knows that she looks more appealing with it flowing akin to silk tresses across her body.

She allows it to settle, and instead spreads her legs, lowers herself so that she’s able to grind against the mound of the duvet beneath her. The pressure has her blushing furiously into the lens of her camera, and causes the plug to shift in her ass when she least expects it to.

A groan leaves her lips.

“You guys are eager tonight, huh?”. She starts.

Trixie rolls her hips deeper into the mattress. Her eyes catch sight of messages telling her to stop, that if she doesn’t she’ll work herself up too much and too soon, but Trixie doesn’t listen. She cants her hips quicker, stares challengingly into the webcam through the coin icons that appear on her screen; it means that they like it.

“Hey new viewer-“. Trixie adds.

“- _Red666_? Great name-“. She giggles, begins palming at her breasts through the mesh of her bra. They’re hard in an instant with the whisper of a touch, and Trixie thinks that they could cut glass in their worked up, erotic state.

“-Are you the devil who’s ‘gonna come tell me off for being a bad slut, _hm_? ‘Gonna spank me mama?”.

Her words are long and drawn out - she knows that she needs to quit rutting against the bedding if she’s going to edge herself further like she plans - and they elicit a string of approving messages from the chat. Her usual viewers are goading her on, the newer ones simply boggling in awe, Trixie assumes, from their incoherent messages that are ridden with spelling mistakes, careless typos.

“I’d like y’all to tell me off-”. She whispers, pinching both nipples between the thumb and forefinger of each hand.

“-‘Wanna be spanked for not listenin’”.

Trixie lifts herself to her knees once again, grins cheekily in the direction of her laptop before she’s turning her back towards it, displaying her ass proudly. She digs her elbows into the pillows at her head, cranes her neck to glance back at the screen where her viewers are urging her to pull her thong to the side, award them a peak of the plug that they can see through the flimsy lace.

Lifting one hand, Trixie uses it to nudge her thong down her hips. She raises her knees in order to crawl out of it, and clutches the material in her hand; it’s been against her core for less than ten minutes and is already dripping with her slick moisture.

The knowledge yanks a whimper from deep within her lungs, and then she’s sitting up straighter, spreading her ass cheeks with one hand and slapping the other down against the right globe clumsily. It stings blissfully - Trixie wishes she had somebody to do it for her, harder - so she’s doing it again, alternating sides for the next five welts that land against her raw flesh.

She can hear the microscopic ding that her speakers make each time that somebody tips, through the blood that’s pumping only in her ears and pulsing clit. It’s reassuring; Trixie holds no doubt that her viewers will lap up everything she does, thinks that she could merely sit there sipping at a cup of coffee whilst straddling her vibrator if she so wished to, allowing each pair of eyes to divulge their ideal scenarios in the chat.

It’s not what Trixie wants, though, and she’s turning back around, unclasping her bra as she does so. It leaves her facing the camera once again, nude and available for the prying eyes to ogle at whilst they type out their filthy streams of consciousnesses.

Trixie loves it; unashamedly.

**Red666: _I’d fuck you into tomorrow, shit, look at you_**

Her eyes hone in on the messages of her newest viewer - she’s tipping more than anybody else, talking Trixie up into a stupor better than half of her regulars - and Trixie’s whipping up a brattish retort within seconds.

She reaches to her side, where she’d left her largest dildo earlier in the evening, and drags it over to where she’s perched. She runs both hands up and down the girth of it, settles it between her thighs that are beginning to sweat in the heat of the room, despite the window that she has hiked open behind her closed, velvet curtains.

The head of it rubs against her lips, her clit - it’s large enough to have her wincing before she’s even begun to sink down on to it - and Trixie’s staring stoically down the camera lens, into the eyes and guts of those watching her.

“I don’t ‘wanna be fucked into _tomorrow_ -“. Trixie deadpans.

She lowers herself atop the dildo, feels it slipping against her desire, before it’s stretching out her opening that’s more sensitive than she thought it would be. She guesses it comes from the length of time that she’s been edging herself for, because her walls swallow the silicone up greedily, like they’re starving for something that they’ve never tasted.

“-I ‘wanna be fucked into _next year_ ”. Her hips slam down the remainder of the way onto the dildo.

It bottoms out with a thud, and Trixie grits her teeth at the sensation that floods her body. The burn is worse than it’s ever been, and she finds herself becoming rapidly intoxicated by the ache that shoots though her core and into her ass; she can feel the plug catching against the dildo through her skin as she raises herself up once, experimentally, then sinks herself back down onto dildo that she can see is already coated with creamy wetness.

Her hands come back up to her breasts.

She grabs at them roughly, lifts one to her mouth so that she can take her own nipple between her teeth, nibble and suck rhythmically at the hardened skin. It makes her wish that she’d dug her nipple clamps out before hand - she wants the pain prickling it’s way through them without having to touch them insistently - though knows that she’s past the point of being willing to abandon her toys simply to search for an extra perk.

Opening her eyes from where they’ve slipped closed unwittingly, Trixie releases her nipple from her mouth with a pop. She glances back into the camera, her eyes wide and fucked out from the pace that she’s gained, impaling herself onto her the dildo that has her closer than she knows she should be whilst edging.

“My pussy’s so tight-“. Trixie whimpers.

“- _So_ fuckin’ tight”.

The messages in the chat are aflame. Trixie can’t keep up with who’s saying what and what their tips insinuate when she’s rocking back and forth on the dildo so relentlessly. It’s weighty enough that it remains planted on the bed with each of her thrusts, even through the suction of her walls that are determined to keep their source of pleasure deep inside.

Trixie’s never been more thankful for her affinity for size than when she takes in all the messages that she’s able to focus on; her loyal group of regulars and the new woman that’s caught her eye.

**Butchnymph: _I’d love to suck on your nipples for you so you can fuck your self like you need to_**

**AlexB93: _I hope you know how bad you are. You just can’t help yourself, can you? xx_**

**Dykeloverr: _Can you please come for us this time? I don’t think you should edge anymore, you look like you need to come, doll <3_**

**Red666: _If you want to be fucked into next year that badly then I have my application ready and waiting. Don’t come yet though. Wait. You’re a brat who needs to be taught a lesson._**

**Girlsgoneoscarwilde: _Bet that plug feels so good inside your ass while you’re riding that doesn’t it?_**

**Silksinner19: _I knew my tip wouldn’t be wasted_**

Huffing, Trixie settles her hips. She stops moving, flutters her muscles and clenches herself around the dildo once, twice, three times, so that she’s reminded of the torrid stretch. There are viewers telling her to come, finally, and others demanding persistently that she continues edging; Trixie doesn’t know how much longer she’ll be able to cope and stay sane.

She braces her hands on her thighs, concentrates the majority of her energy on not lifting herself back up again, fucking herself to the edge of the orgasm that she’s yearning for. The impatience has her eyes watering like her core, and Trixie blinks away the tears as she read over select messages for the second, or maybe it’s the third time.

_Don’t come yet._

_Wait_.

_You’re a brat who needs to be taught a lesson._

Trixie agrees with her. She knows that she’s been less than kind, a long way off of pleasant towards the people that she’s come in contact with throughout the day; her taxi cab driver, the teenage boy who had served her coffee on her lunch break, _Katya_.

She hums in acknowledgement, slouches forward to fist her hands into the fabric of her bed sheets. They crinkle under her touch, as does her stomach thats squashing under the position of her arms, folding into rolls that she’s certain send her viewers into a delirium.

“Maybe I should stop for now, yeah? Use my vibrator instead-“. Trixie whines.

“-What d’you guys think?”.

The chat erupts with messages once again, the regulars that Trixie’s thoroughly familiar with. She can almost predict each individual answer, down to the heart icons that some of them send and the colloquial dialect that others use. There are a variety of responses; some that Trixie appreciates and others that she doesn’t, ones that she wishes they would take back and reverse, erase.

**Butchnymph: _Keep going. I want to see you shaking and begging baby_**

**AlexB93: _Fuck yourself harder with that dildo. I know you can take it harder and faster xx_**

**Dykeloverr: _Use your vibrator and come, beautiful <3_**

**Girlsgoneoscarwilde: _You should try fisting yourself instead. Bet you could fit your whole hand in there, couldn’t you? I wonder if you could do it without coming_**

**Silksinner19: _Don’t come and I’ll tip you extra next time_**

Trixie groans outwardly. The consensus is that she shouldn’t come, that she should continue riding her trusty dildo until the muscles in her thighs give out and she aches all over - deep inside - from the exertion.

It’s not a decision that she wants to follow through with, though knows that if she doesn’t she’s at the risk of being punished by their orders and commands the next time that she broadcasts herself to them, sitting pretty in front of her overly thought out background of pink sheets and caliginous fairy lights.

Trixie feels like her hands are tied.

She wants to be a good girl, like she tells herself that she is when she’s sitting up straight, grasping the base of the dildo with both hands. It’s what she wants - maybe needs - but she’s uncertain as to whether she’s going to do it or not when the dildo slips free with a tug, flops back down onto the bed with a small thud.

The emptiness leaves her groaning, dripping stickily down onto her sheets that have darkened in splotches from her wetness. She feels like she needs to be filled again the instant that she sets said dildo aside, reminds herself to clean it off before tucking herself into bed that night.

Trixie brings her hand back to her body, weaves her fingers in her strands of public hair that are sodden, and then lower to her lips, her hole that’s clenching with its new found vacancy. She eyes the messages that are still appearing on the chat every handful of seconds, searches for the one username that she’s quickly come to enjoy.

“What about you, _Red_? Tell me what you think I should do”. She exhales raggedly.

Her eyes are trained on the chat - they have been since she’d switched on the semi pixilated screen - and she watches the comments run dry when the viewers take the hint that she’s not interested in them, anymore, only cares for the new viewer that has her intrigued beyond her understanding.

Trixie nibbles at her lips as she waits, rubs gentle circles into her clit to keep her on edge without sending her cascading over the brim. She lets out low moans, whimpers and mewls that she knows are working at getting the remainder of her viewers off; they tip more with each octave that her voice climbs and Trixie knows it’s working effectively.

**Red666: _Use your vibrator, but don’t come. Don’t come at all tonight._**

**Red666: _Is your vibrator pink too? It has to be doesn’t it_**

It is.

Trixie slides it into frame of the webcam with a grin, lifts it up to her mouth where she licks across the head smugly. The chat replenishes itself once again, and Trixie’s tilting her head back with a giggle that causes her breasts to bounce against her chest, her arms that are squashing them and propping them up.

“How did you know it’d be pink, huh? Am I already that predictable to ‘ya?”. She jokes light heartedly.

Her hand guides the vibrator down her body, across her nipples and to the juncture between her legs. She already has it switched on - she selects the second to highest setting, has no time for starting off slow - and presses it to her clit with a twitch of her hips and a guttural moan.

“I- I _really_ need to come”. Trixie pouts into the camera.

She’s getting short of breath, and knows that if somebody doesn’t stop her from grinding down onto the head of the vibrator then she’s going to come regardless of what the messages tell her to do.

**Butchnymph: _You look really close, are you sure you can hold out?_**

**AlexB93: _Damn, turn that thing all the way up. Let me hear you xx_**

**Dykeloverr: _You deserve to come, you know you do <3_**

**Girlsgoneoscarwilde: _Does your pussy feel empty now? I know it does. You should stuff your wet panties in there to fill you up_**

**Silksinner19: _Just a little longer, then you can stop for tonight_**

Trixie can feel the waves of pleasure amounting to a tsunami in her gut. She gets off on the vulgar words that people sprout out towards her, the obscene insinuations that they make. A twinge travels to her clit with every glance at the word _slut_ , or _whore_ ; Trixie knows that they’re right when the urge to get bent over and fucked thoroughly is the most prominent thought at the forefront of her mind.

She can feel hands that don’t yet exist caressing her waist, slapping down onto her ass that’s red with hand prints and bruises. She can picture fingers twisting the plug in her ass too, and then curling up inside of her. They drip with come, wetness, until Trixie’s squirting down her thighs that tremble when the fingers persist, and keep her coming until she’s laying fucked out on her side, wrapping herself up in supple blankets and cloud like pillows.

The viewers in the chat are still sharing their opinions, but Trixie’s locked in a pocket in her brain that’s been sewn up, is unable to absorb their rambles until her eyes gawk at a string of comments.

A lopsided smile crosses her face.

**Red666: _I know you’re only listening to me. That’s adorably hot_**

**Red666: _Not used to this kind of attention I take it? You must be so humble, Trixie_**

**Red666: _Stop now. Stop touching yourself_**

Trixie listens.

She flicks the off switch on her vibrator, pulls it away from her clit that she knows has never been as swollen as it is now. She sets the device down onto the bed, next to her dildo, and slumps back into the nest of pillows surrounding her. Untucking her legs from beneath herself, she sits on her sore thighs, ever cautious of the plug that’s still shifting deliciously in her ass.

She doesn’t want to take it out just yet.

Brushing her hair away from her face, Trixie wipes at the sweat that’s dripping freely down her brow. She doesn’t think she’s stopped sweating all day - knows it for a fact - and combs her hair up into a scraggly bun atop her head with an elastic that she’s had wrapped around her wrist for the entirety of the day.

She’s passed the point of caring what she looks like; she’s aware that she’ll remain desirable to her viewers until she ends the broadcast, allows them to continue getting off to the thought of her and her breasts, her flushed face and stomach.

Trixie chuckles to herself.

“I can’t believe you didn’t let me come again-“. She whines.

“I’m ‘gonna lose my fuckin’ mind, you guys”.

She thinks that she already has. Her body had woken up in a daze the morning prior, and she feels as if she’s been blockaded in it through the Los Angeles summer heat, her arousal that’s refused to diminish. It’s gotten to the point where she’s not sure if she wants it to end - she feels like she needs to edge herself for the rest of eternity - until she’s glancing back towards the screen.

“ _Red_ , I think you might be my new favourite viewer-“. She admits, drawls out her words with a seductive honesty.

“-Everybody else needs to step up”.

 _Red_ is holding all of Trixie’s attention. She seems eager, though not overly so to the extent that Trixie’s put off like she is sometimes, and is tipping more than half of her audience combined. Trixie wonders who she is, briefly, if she’s a broke college student like herself or the daughter of a business tycoon from the depths of the rust belt.

She guesses that she doesn’t care though, when _Red_ is typing again, telling Trixie how she looks cute with her hair thrown up. Trixie doesn’t know how she has the audacity - it’s maddening to her - and she’s asking Red to join her in a private chat before she can begin to contemplate the repercussions.

“You don’t have time to, _y’know_ , join me for a ‘lil private somethin’, do ‘ya?”.

Trixie hopes that she does.

She wants _Red_ to be able to tell her what to do without the restrictions of the chat, through messages that could be longer, more elaborate. Trixie wants to see her face also, through the haziness of the pixelated screen that’s beginning to give her a headache in the rapidly darkening room.

Trixie _desperately_ hopes that she does.

**Red666: _Not right now, sorry. Stuff to do bla bla bla_**

**Red666: _But, you can trust that I’ll be back next time_**

**Red666: _Without a fucking doubt_**

Trixie swears that she’ll hold her to her words. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh my god you fuckin’ bitch-“. Trixie cackles.
> 
> “You watched, didn’t ‘ya?”.
> 
> Katya doesn’t know how to respond. She knows that Trixie’s not mad from the way that she’s grinning manically, chuckling into the microscopic space between herself and Katya. There’s inches between them, and the close proximity is enough to have Katya’s confidence levels rising from the shallows, growing so that they wrap around the rafters of their apartment complex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hello welcome back to the fic that’s every horny anon ever, combined into one piece of writing. i just want to say thank you so so much for the crazily amazing reaction to ch.1! it means so much!
> 
> i’m loving writing this, so i hope you enjoy this part! it’s pretty much all build up with a hint of smut, but rest assured that ch.3 will be taking a trip to kink city. 
> 
> i hope you enjoy!<3

Trixie’d always told herself that she was a _good girl_.

Everybody that she’d ever known had forever prided her on her attitude, her inner motivation and drive to succeed. She’d never once faltered because of it, and had made a point of being exactly what her friends, family, girlfriends, had expected her to be since she won her first spelling bee in the third grade.

She never flunked a test - apart from the one algebra final in her junior year that she likes to forget about - and graduated at the top of her class in both middle school and high school. It had meant that she landed a place at her chosen college, on her ideal course, without much difficulty. She handpicked the scholarships that suited her, from the silver platter that they were handed to her on, because she was a _good girl_.

It had spiralled from there, continued until Trixie left home for Los Angeles with her suitcase packed full of modest clothing that her mom had bought and laid out for her; three quarter length shorts and high neck shirts that left her sweltering in the above hundred degree heat.

Trixie had told herself that she didn’t care. She was a _good girl_ , she reaffirmed, working to maintain her non existent reputation in an unfamiliar state that saw her as uptight and conceited, conservative and withdrawn. It was an unrealised act that she succeeded in portraying, convincing everyone around her that she was as pristine as she assumed that she was; until she met Bobbie.

They were thrown together, partnered on an improvisation project mid way through Trixie’s first month of college. Trixie had fumbled, though Bobbie had convinced Trixie not to be the flailing stick of innocence that she saw her as, had drawn Trixie out of herself with two vodka sodas and a kiss that had been Trixie’s first.

She was eighteen.

Meeting Bobbie lead to being acquainted with Bobbie’s friends that were all mostly in their sophomore year, with the exception of a zany blonde that she came to know as Katya. Some studied art and others were in the musical theatre strand like herself, whereas the most notable individuals - Adore, Jinkx, Pearl - took classes on subjects that had Trixie’s eyes boggling, her mouth drooling with want.

Trixie’s still able to pin point the exact moment that her ideologies had flipped and her priorities had switched. Jinkx. She had been articulating her words with a twang that burned at Trixie’s eardrums, was gesticulating wildly about philosophy with her hands that brushed up against Trixie’s knees, her thighs and her shoulders.

It had driven Trixie to the brink of madness, but then Bobbie was there, pulling her away from the cliffs edge and talking equally as animatedly as Jinkx had about existence and values, despite spending her days next to Trixie, reading up on _Brecht_ and _Eisler_.

Trixie had allowed her to do so, and freed herself from the shackles that she’d chained to herself at an age she couldn’t remember - the interwoven links of a good girl - and didn’t dare blink twice when Bobbie was kissing her again, pulling her under the covers of her cramped dorm room bed and fucking her until Trixie was crying out.

 _More more more_.

She had Trixie wondering just how bad a good girl could get.

*****

Trixie wakes the next morning with a pulsation in her core.

Her plug is still nestled in her ass - she clenches her muscles around it once so that she’s reminded of the ache that fills her body from the relentless edging - and she makes a note to take it out during her morning shower.

The used dildo and vibrator are both sat next to her on the bed, too, dried with come that she knows she needs to wash away. She can feel the plug shifting as she moves, kicks away the light sheet, sends it ruffling down to the end of her bed that’s damp with sweat, more come that’s sticky between her thighs.

She sighs audibly.

Bright light stabs through she crack in her curtains that cover the small window to her bedroom, and Trixie’s already beginning to piece together the fragmented memories of the night before that are still hazy in her mind as she rolls over, stretches out her limbs. She releases the contented groan that’s been budding in her chest, neglects to stifle the sound that she knows reverberates around the entirety of the apartment, down the hallway and into Katya’s room.

 _Katya_.

Trixie knows that she must have heard her, couldn’t not have from the volume that she was moaning and whimpering at. She guesses that she doesn’t care; Katya’s never mentioned it being a bother to her before, has even gone out of her way to encourage Trixie to break out her vibrator, or get laid when she’s especially pent up with emotions.

It’s something that Trixie’s thankful for. They’re open books with each other in regards to most aspects of their lives, and neither have ever hesitated in bragging about their latest hook ups over a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee the next morning. They laugh about it like they have, since they first got to know each other at a house party of Jinkx’s where Bobbie convinced Trixie to talk to other people, and Trixie’s comforted by the familiarity.

She smiles to herself.

Sitting up in her silk sheets, cautious of the plug that’s still sending jolts of pleasure to her clit, Trixie swings her legs over the edge of her bed. The pads of her feet come in contact with the itchy carpet as soon as she sets them down, and she’s walking on unsteady legs towards her bathroom that’s already heavy with humidity even though Trixie’s certain that it’s barely eleven in the morning.

She flicks on the shower with ease, and finds herself repeating her shower routine from the previous evening; in reverse. Her fingers ghost over the sore planes of her smarted ass, before they travel to the crease between them. She wiggles the plug free with a practiced ease, moans into the frigid tiled wall before rinsing it under the hot stream of water.

Her hands move around to her pubic mound, then, tug on the hair there that’s dried stickily with come. She runs her fingers through the strands, down to her puffy lips that she keeps bare. They’re sensitive, more than Trixie thinks that they’ve ever been, and she drags her short fingernails across them in order to send shivers wracking her spine.

She succeeds in doing so, and finds herself massaging at her clit that’s still swollen, dragging her digits down further so that she’s able to curl them forwards inside of her. The pleasure is instantaneous - she needs to come, can feel it tight in her chest, the walls of her core that are clenching - but Trixie knows that if she continues she’s going to be erupting, squirting across the floor of her shower without permission.

 _Don’t come don’t come don’t come_.

Trixie’s not willing to entertain the idea. She’s not the archetypal _good girl_ that she once thought she was, but she’s not disobedient either, and reminds herself of it as she pulls her fingers away.

A frustrated whimper leaves her lips as she does so, and she’s half tempted to finish herself off there and then, betray her own self will and her viewers that watch her cam shows religiously. _Red_. The idea is one that’s more than alluring, but Trixie strays away from it in lieu of soaping up her body with her shower gel that’s all coconut and tropical and spicy.

She lathers the suds into her skin, avoids her hair that she has thrown into a makeshift pony tail, and rinses them away with the shower head that’s staring her down from where it’s balanced in its holder.

Her body is clean within minutes, ridden of the filth that she feels has acclimated since she last showered - it was mere hours ago, the previous evening - and she steps out of the shower with a lightness that she’s unable to recognise within herself.

Trixie’s spent the past eternity, she swears, locked in a headspace of desire and uncertainty, need and aggravation. It’s not a feeling that she’s welcomed, isn’t one that she takes pride in, but she can’t fathom how to shake it off akin to a bad thought that crawls through her mind, and instead allows it to bloom, blossom into a prickly cactus.

She busies herself with selecting her outfit for the day, however, with her head clearer than it has been since she’d started edging herself a week or so ago. It’s not a feeling of calm; Trixie thinks it’s far from it, has established that her body has more than likely come to terms with the fact that it’s not going to climb to the peak that she so wishes it would anytime soon, so long as she answers to her insistent viewers.

Trixie relents as she picks out a powder blue sundress. She pulls it on over a pair of comfortable panties, though neglects to throw on a bra - she tells herself that her nipples are on the wrong end of sensitive for it - and steps out of her secluded bedroom with a pensive smile painted in nude lipstick across her face.

Her legs walk themselves down the desolate white corridor and to the kitchen that’s already alive, bustling with the scents of coffee and toast. The radio that’s sat on the counter top, antenna extended towards the cupboard above it, is playing a repetitive chart song that Trixie’s already decided that she loathes.

The overproduced synthesisers that seek to mimic the organic sounds of the 70’s echo against the ceilings, bounce off of the walls that are coloured a dark terracotta; Trixie’s been telling herself that she’s going to paint them since she’d moved in.

It’s no different than any other morning.

Katya’s there too, as Trixie had expected she would be. She’s reclined against the counter top in the corner of the room, a steaming mug of coffee cupped tightly with both hands. She peaks across the rim of it in order to make eye contact with Trixie, lowers it further in order to cast a settling grin her way when Trixie shuffles awkwardly from one foot to the other.

Trixie smiles back tentatively, sways so that she’s crossing the room, snatching up the molten mug of coffee that Katya’s already poured for her.

 _Routine_.

She begins sipping at it eagerly, ignores the prickling burn against her tongue that reminds her of the ache that spreads throughout most of her body. It’s an intoxicating pain, and she keeps gulping even as Katya eyes her cautiously, sets her own mug back down on the coaster that sits next to the brewed pot of coffee.

Trixie mirrors her. There’s a niggling feeling in the back of Trixie’s mind that prevents her from speaking, encourages her to remain mute as she dwells over the guilt that’s pooling in the pits of her stomach. She knows that Katya’s above holding grudges; Trixie’s glad for it when all she can think of is how unpleasant she was to Katya the last time that they stood in the kitchen, how brattish she had acted and how it had left Katya walking away.

It’s stupid, but Trixie wants to apologise - it’s something that she’s never done after a petty altercation with Katya before - until Katya’s picking her mug back up, popping the toaster with a single press of a button.

“Jam? Peanut butter?”. Katya voices, her back turned to Trixie.

Trixie can feel her cheeks heating up with embarrassment. Katya’s talking to her like nothing has happened, like Trixie knew that she would, and it’s off putting to the extent that Trixie doesn’t respond verbally, instead nods her head slowly.

She wants to kick herself the instant that she does it, because Katya’s still facing away from her, is spreading butter across the golden slices of toast with a patience that Trixie envies. She glances over her shoulder when Trixie doesn’t reply, and cocks an eyebrow questioningly. Her hands continue buttering the toast as she does so - Trixie doesn’t understand how she has the ability to multitask before noon - and she grins widely when she spots Trixie’s flustered expression.

“Shit-“. Katya chuckles, gives Trixie’s body a once over.

“-I’ve heard the expression _fuck your brains out_ but I didn’t think it was actually possible. Are you alive, Trix?”.

Trixie’s eyes grow wide. She doesn’t understand why when she’s spent the morning reiterating to herself that Katya had undeniably heard her, had tuned into every moan that Trixie released into her room that’s enclosed by tissue paper thin walls, and the silk of her bed sheets. She knows that Katya’s merely joking - she’s done it before, Trixie thinks that she’ll do it again if the opportunity presents itself - and opts to make her way to the small dining table in the corner of the room, sit herself down with a breathless chuckle.

Her ass feels bruised as it makes contact with the creaking wood of the antique chair that Katya had gone out of her way to refurbish, and she ducks her head, clears her throat of discomposure. She lifts her eyes to look at Katya once again, shifts uncomfortably.

“Uh, one jam, one peanut butter”. Trixie mutters.

“Coming”. Katya responds nonchalantly.

Trixie _wishes_ that she was. She thanks Katya with the most stable voice that she’s able to muster, but Katya doesn’t bat an eyelid as she sits down opposite Trixie, crowds into her space across the tiny table top that’s made for two at the most. Trixie can smell the mint toothpaste that’s still on her breath, but Katya doesn’t seem to care as she bites into her toast, chews it with her shiny teeth.

It gives Trixie’s eyes something to focus on when she begins eating her own toast. Katya’s burnt the crusts but Trixie never eats them anyway, nibbles at the insides of bread that’s ladened with greasy butter and chunky peanut butter, smooth raspberry jam that sticks to her lips. She licks it away with her tongue - it’s tingling from the searing hot coffee - and rests her chin on her folded hands.

She can feel the heat emanating from Katya’s body, the waves of warmth radiating off of Katya’s legs that hit her own beneath the table, under the checkered table cloth that’s made of tacky, overly reflective linoleum. Trixie doesn’t know why they bought it in the first place - no doubt it was Katya’s idea - though is glad for how it covers her thighs that are trembling, breaking out into a sweat.

Trixie already feels like she needs another shower.

“So-“. Katya hums around a mouthful of bread. “-You had a good night then?”.

She’s grinning slyly over to Trixie, swallowing what’s left in her mouth with a bob of her throat. Trixie watches it move beneath the surface of her skin, before she’s nodding her head with an air of indifference that she knows isn’t believable. Katya purses her lips at the blush that rises to Trixie’s flushed cheek, reaches across the table to pick up her mug of lukewarm coffee.

“Are you sure?-“. She checks. “-You seem ‘kinda, really on _edge_ this morning”.

There’s a lightness to Katya’s voice that Trixie can feel mocking her, threatening to expose her needs that are running rampant throughout her body. Katya continues eyeing her, with eyes that are both narrowed and darkened. Trixie shrugs through her unease, sits up straighter against the rigid back of the wooden chair.

“Yeah, I, I’m good”.

Trixie picks up her second slice of toast, the one spread evenly with peanut butter, and bites into it slowly. The larger chunks of peanuts catch against her teeth, and she can hear them crunching in her head, grinding against her teeth before she swallows it.

It tastes of nothing.

“You’re practically _vibrating_ , though-”. Katya husks, presses her mug to her cheek.

“-And you’re sitting like you have a stick up your ass”.

Groaning frustratedly, Trixie buries her face into the palm of her hands. She can hear Katya’s muffled, sadistic chuckles through the thrum of her pulse in her eardrums, and scrunches up her eyes in defeat. It’s off putting - Trixie knows that it’s what Katya’s been seeking to achieve - and Trixie uses the only ounce of energy that she feels remains in her body to nudge Katya’s ankle beneath the table.

“Oh my god _shut up_ , like you never get yourself off”. Trixie whines exasperatedly.

She lifts her head once again, locks eyes with Katya whose pupils are flared, ignited with a flame that Trixie wants to put out with her half empty mug of coffee. She contemplates it, waxes over the idea of lobbing it towards Katya so that she stops taunting Trixie, though decides against it when Katya’s expression softens, like she can feel the pain, the need for bliss that’s trickling into her blood stream. There’s an apology readying itself on the tip of Trixie’s tongue, but then Katya’s upping her guard once again, filing her head to one side.

“I just go out and get laid-“. Katya snickers, runs her tongue across her top lip.

“-You should try it some time”. She finishes.

Trixie clenches her thighs together. Her panties are already beginning to dampen beneath her sundress - she knows she’s going to have to throw them away because of how ruined that they’re bound to end up - and exhales raggedly when her ass presses down onto the hard seat.

It still burns inexplicably; Trixie thinks that she might escape back to her room to massage some soothing aloe cream into it before doing whatever errands that she’s forgotten about during the day. It feels like it’s blistering, even though Trixie knows that it’s not. She’d barely slapped the tender skin, and knows that she can take more welts than she’s capable of counting in her fuzzy mind when she slips into a dazed state occasionally, fuelled by nothing apart from the need to come and be a good girl.

She snorts inelegantly.

“Fuck you, Katya-”. Trixie banters. “-What did you do last night that was so much better, _hm_?”.

Katya regards Trixie knowingly, though shrugs her shoulders when Trixie’s expression begins to grow smug. She doesn’t want Trixie’s ego to inflate to be any larger than it already appears, seeks to squash it down so that she’s able to treat Trixie like she has been for the past month - maybe longer - in a way that’s neither obvious or degrading.

“Just caught up on a couple of shows, you know how it is”. She drawls.

“Shows. _Right_ ”. Trixie snickers.

Allowing herself to return Trixie’s earlier nudge, Katya swipes her calf against Trixie’s. It catches Trixie off guard, the way Katya had been hoping that it would, and Trixie’s left with her mouth agape, her eyes drooping menacingly. Katya likes the sight, though decides that she’s pushing Trixie too far when Trixie visibly jumps, twitches in the space between the back of her chair and the table.

“You’re not the only one who’s allowed to get themselves off-“. Katya jibes, swears it’ll be her final shove.

“-Some of us are just quieter than others”. She murmurs.

Trixie relents.

“Listen, if you’re not going to offer to fucking _rail_ me then can we stop talking about this?”.  
  
She’s reaching the end of her tether that’s worn down, frayed at the edges, unweaving before her eyes despite the calm breathing that she tries to enforce. She breathes in for five seconds, exhales for the same amount of time until Katya’s face stops stamping itself against her eyelids that ache every time that she blinks.

Trixie clears her throat once, and then again, and then Katya knows.

“Sure, whatever, I’m done“. Katya gives in, stands abruptly in order to gather hers and Trixie’s now empty plates.

She picks up the drained mugs, too, tucks them under her arm in order to carry them over to the sink that’s overflowing with unwashed dishes from the previous days. They land amongst the stale, soapy water with a clack, and then Katya’s manoeuvring her way back around the kitchen to pick up her battered phone from the table, before she’s stalking towards her room.

“I’m gonna get ready-“. Katya announces. “-We have Jinkx’s talk on rational argument this afternoon”.

Trixie’s already tuned out of the conversation.

*****

For Trixie, the following days pass in a blur.

She pays little attention as a week zip lines by, watches herself interact with society from a body that isn’t her own, through a television screen that’s hazy and pixelated. Trixie doesn’t think she’s ever felt as detached from herself, as disassociated from everybody that she surrounds herself with in her daily life; Jinkx, Pearl, Sasha, Bobbie, _Katya_.

It has her losing her mind. She’s unable to recognise her closest friends, finds it exponentially difficult to recognise herself, if she’s honest, when she glances in the yellow lit mirror of her bathroom, caresses her body with a featherlight touch. Her eyes look wider yet her face appears older, weathered from the blustering sexual desire that dominates her body, demands to be quelled.

Trixie doesn’t listen.

She’s a _good girl_ , she repeats to herself, and does one more cam show mid week where her viewers watch intently, command her around akin to a wind up toy that exists only for their pleasure. It’s what Trixie likes, what Trixie loves, but she’s never been as spaced out as she knows that she is when Red reappears amidst the string of messages in her live chat, forbids Trixie from coming. _Again_.

It’s been two weeks.

Trixie’s chained into a constant state of hyper tension, and everybody from Katya to her theatre lectures have noticed, have mentioned Trixie’s newly found lack of ability to concentrate for more than ten minutes at a time. It’s getting out of hand, she knows, and finds herself contemplating the idea of making herself come once, twice, ten times, against the wishes of her viewers when she’s seven vodka sodas deep into her intoxicated state.

The name _Red_ flashes in Trixie’s pupils, and she knows that she’s drunk.

Katya’s sat next to her - Trixie thinks that she’s one out of three sheets to the wind drunk compared to her four - sipping on a clear plastic cup that’s filled with boxed wine. Trixie doesn’t understand it. She’s always despised every form of wine, be it red, white or even the dry rosé that Katya swears she should like purely because it _matches her aesthetic_ , and longs for the day that Katya begins to drink vodka sodas like herself, instead of perfumed water.

Trixie believes it will happen, some day.

She grimaces as Katya gulps down the remainder of the wine in the cup, sets it down onto the coffee table in front of her before slumping back into the indentation she’s left on their apartment couch. Trixie diverts her gaze then, allows her focus to land on Sasha and Shea - they’re staying at the apartment for the night - who are both slouched onto the arm chair that Trixie knows is too small to comfortably seat both of them.

Her eyes narrow at their position. Shea is sat relatively normal, Trixie notes, with her spine straight against the back rest of the couch and her legs tucked complexly beneath her. It’s not a position that Trixie would choose for herself, but she doesn’t care, not when Sasha’s draped across the arm rest, straddling it so that her hands are planted on the square of suede couch fabric that’s bunched between her thighs.

Trixie knows that she’s staring.

She does so unashamedly; Sasha’s wearing leather pants that Trixie’s deemed to be unnecessarily tight on her calves, the muscles of her inner thighs, and a shirt that’s more see through than any item of clothing that Trixie thinks that she owns. Trixie can see her nipples poking through said fabric, standing to attention in the cool air of the ventilated room as she tilts her head back in a raucous laugh, and wills herself to divert her gaze once again.

Finding Sasha attractive isn’t something that Trixie would shy away from, usually - she gladly embraces each tug - but it is when Shea’s voice begins pooling in puddles of velvet in Sasha’s lap.

Trixie envies them, albeit just a little.

She knows that they’re not an official thing yet, as Katya’s told her, but thinks that they will be soon from the glances that they throw each other’s ways, the hushed whispers that they don’t care to share with either Katya or herself. She doesn’t blame them; Katya’s eyes are on her, telling her silently to stop ogling with her blown out orbs that drift occasionally back to Sasha’s thighs and heaving chest.

It barely stops the jealousy from spilling further out of Katya.

Katya knows that she’s acting irrational. Her and Trixie’s relationship stands at strictly friends, and she’s more than aware that Trixie would probably fuck the guy behind the counter in the lobby of their apartment complex if it meant that she satisfied the want that Katya can see coursing through her veins.

She’s known Trixie long enough to know when the entirety of her sexual energy has pent up, and when Sasha and Shea head to bed in Katya’s room, she’s shuffling subconsciously closer to the brown eyed girl. Trixie visibly relaxes too, her body draining of the tension that Katya had watched build and build and build throughout the course of the night, until it stood in turrets around her being.

Her shoulders lower themselves back to their natural position, and she elongates her cramped legs, stretches them across Katya’s lap. Katya lets her do it. She’s not about to deny Trixie the comfort that she thinks she deserves when she’s as drunk as she is, sipping away at what Katya knows has to be her ninth or tenth vodka soda.

Trixie sighs, opens her eyes begrudgingly from where they’ve slipped closed in her alcohol induced, lust fuelled trance. She hums lowly, sinks her head into the backrest of the couch and lifts her hand to untuck a strand of Katya’s hair from where it’s slipped beneath her shirt. Katya giggles at Trixie’s actions, holds her breath in her chest when Trixie’s hand moves around to her bangs; they’re stuck to her forehead in places with minuscule droplets of sweat.

Pushing Trixie’s hand away half heartedly, Katya rolls her eyes.

“You’re drunk”. She states. It’s a fact that’s obvious to the both of them.

Trixie nods her head, a contented smile quirking up at the corners of her mouth. It grows smug quickly, until her top row of crooked teeth are digging into her bottom lip that’s shiny with spit and lip gloss. Katya keeps her composure, despite Trixie’s persistently fluttering eyelashes and the gentle touches that she begins ghosting across Katya’s shoulders, her collarbones.

“I’m also _really_ horny”. Trixie slurs.

Katya already knows, though scoffs when Trixie leans in closer, perches her chin on Katya’s shoulder. She can feel the bones of Trixie’s jaw shifting against her, is able to hear the sound that Trixie’s lips make as they smack together.

“When are you not horny?”. Katya prods in response.

She slides Trixie’s head off of her should, so that it’s back resting against the surface of the touch. It means that she’s better able to see Trixie’s face, the minute frown that’s forming across her forehead, and the darkened bags beneath her eyes that are prominent from the lack of sleep that Katya’s sure she’s not been getting.

“Shhh-“. Trixie hiccups. “-I ‘wanna tell you something”.

Her eyes are crossing, as are Katya’s; she thinks she knows of the confession that’s hanging heavily in the air around them, balancing precariously on Trixie’s vodka singed tongue. Trixie looks lazily blissful in Katya’s foggy sight, her hair puffy and tucked behind her rosy ears that are glinting with oversized gold hoops, and Katya wants to reach out, slip herself into Trixie’s world.

She thinks that she might.

“Y’know last week, when you heard me fuckin’ myself?-“. Trixie begins, stumbles over her words.

She knows that she’s drunk, is aware that she should have stopped drinking over an hour and five vodka sodas ago in order to avoid the inevitable hang over that’s going to creep in the following morning. It’s unfortunate that she didn’t, she thinks, but then she’s ignoring her thoughts, relishing in the lack of filter between her mind and her mouth.

Katya nods once, accepts that she’s been right, is always right.

“-I wasn’t _just_ fuckin’ myself”. She finishes.

Blinking, Katya nods once more. Trixie’s looking at her as if she’s just confessed the biggest weight that sits unwelcome on her shoulders at night, a sin that she’s been looking to pass on to Katya’s stronger frame for too long. Katya’s glad for it, and allows herself to smile gingerly, covers Trixie’s hand with her own in a manner that she can only describe as protective.

Trixie’s still on edge. She doesn’t know if Katya’s latched onto the line that she’d thrown her, caught on to the vagueness of Trixie’s words that she knows are admittedly confusing. She searches Katya’s eyes in order to gauge for a reaction, an incline as to what thoughts are racing through Katya’s mind that she’s unable to pin point, though re-emerges with nothing.

She tries again.

“I meant I- _god_ , I was online and-“.

Katya cuts her off, shakes her head until Trixie’s mute.

“Trixie-“. She soothes. “-I know, it’s ok. It’s not embarrassing or, I don’t know, forbidden, you idiot”.

Trixie grips Katya’s hand tighter, her eyebrows knitted together. Katya wants to smooth them out with the pads of her fingertips, but refrains, and taps them across Trixie’s cooking knuckles instead. They twitch beneath Katya’s touch, as does the entirety of Trixie’s body when Katya’s words hit her, sink syllable by syllable into her skin.

“Wait, you-“.

Katya cuts her off again.

“I saw the website in your search history when I borrowed your laptop and I - I got curious. I’m _sorry_ I-“. Katya mutters.

She allows her words to dwindle into nothingness, watches as Trixie’s eyes widen first in shock and then amazement. Trixie’s baffled, it seems; her body is swaying, rocking back and forth in dazed movements on the couch next to Katya. It’s making Katya queasy, but she knows that if anybody has the right to feel nauseous then it’s Trixie, with her body swimming with alcohol and realisation.

Katya works her hand free from Trixie’s when Trixie’s nails begin digging too deeply into her palm, moves it to balance on Trixie’s shin instead. The skin there is smooth, sun kissed - it’s the height of summer in one of the hottest states in the country - and katya can’t help her want to trail her fingers from Trixie’s ankle bone, up to where her shorts cut off around her upper thigh.

She doesn’t do it, but Trixie’s eyes are still wide, haven’t calmed from their bewildered state that Katya feels entirely responsible for. Trixie sits back, adjusts her shirt that’s twisted around her body before she’s lifting herself shakily to her knees. She wobbles, and Katya’s half expecting her to topple over when she plants her hands down in front of her, eyes Katya suspiciously.

“Oh my god you fuckin’ bitch-“. Trixie cackles.

“You watched, didn’t ‘ya?”.

Katya doesn’t know how to respond. She knows that Trixie’s not mad from the way that she’s grinning manically, chuckling into the microscopic space between herself and Katya. There’s inches between them, and the close proximity is enough to have Katya’s confidence levels rising from the shallows, growing so that they wrap around the rafters of their apartment complex.

“What was your screen name, huh?-“. Trixie pauses to chuckle disbelievingly.

“-I bet you were one of the dumb ones, like _girlsgoneoscarwilde_ ”. She muses.

Shaking her head, Katya mumbles _no_. She wasn’t - she doesn’t think she could be that creative if she tried - and attempts to convey every thought that she’s had about the subject at hand through a single, fiery glance. It doesn’t work. Katya knows it’s a long shot, but tries again, loops her arms slack around Trixie’s waist in order to pull her closer to Katya’s level.

Trixie slumps forward, braces her hands on Katya’s shoulders. Her palms are clammy, and she prays Katya doesn’t pay the fact too much attention when she squeezes them, ducks her head to press her forehead against Katya’s bangs.

Katya grins up at her.

“What’s my favourite colour, Trix?-“. She asks, waits impatiently for Trixie to answer.

“-Come on, you know this one”.

Trixie scrunches up her eyes in concentration, releases a hitched gasp when she realises, her eyes flying open and connecting with Katya’s. katya nods encouragingly, lifts her hand to press her thumb into Trixie’s plump bottom lip. It slips against Trixie’s nude lipgloss, drags down to her chin where she leaves a trail of sheen. Katya leaves behind traces of her thumbprints, and then Trixie’s following her hand, nipping jokingly at the tip of Katya’s finger.

“ _Red_ -“. She breathes. “-You were _red_ ”.

“Got it in one”.

Her eyes darken, and then Trixie’s surging forward.

Trixie’s nose collides with Katya’s before their lips meet, in a flurry of lust and attraction, helplessness and finality. Trixie keens wantonly, threads her fingers into Katya’s hair, tugs on the bleached blonde strands when Katya pulls down on her hips, allows Trixie to grind into the defined muscles of her lap.

It has Trixie whimpering into Katya’s open mouth, silently begging for Katya to _keep going keep going keep going._ Katya hears her prayers, kisses Trixie deeper and with renewed vigour that Trixie’s intoxicated mind is unable to wrap itself around. She can’t comprehend the entirety of the situation; Katya’s beneath her, kissing her because she wants Trixie, presumably, has divulged that she indulged in the pixelated image of a riled up Trixie, fucking herself onto her dildo.

 _Red_ is Katya. Katya is _Red_ , and Katya is kissing her like she’s given up her game of teasing that Trixie’s beginning to acknowledge that she’s been playing for days, weeks on end.

Trixie can’t believe her audacity, knows that Katya’s gone out of her way to slip in off-beat jokes into their conversations just to remind Trixie or the fact that she hasn’t been able to come for two whole weeks, hasn’t been allowed to use her favourite vibrator or her curved dildo that’s guaranteed to make her squirt each time that she uses it.

It’s maddening.

Katya pulls away when Trixie’s lips cease to move. Trixie thinks that she’s becoming drunker with each second that passes, the alcohol that she’s drunk being absorbed into her blood stream. It leaves her movements sluggish and poorly thought out; she misses Katya’s lips when she leans back in to continue their kiss, feels them land against the puckering muscle of Katya’s cheek instead of the pillows of her mouth.

Chuckling, Katya nudges Trixie away.

“Trixie-“. She husks. “-Get up, come on, bedroom”.

Trixie does as she’s told, and finds herself sinking into the mattress of her bed less than a minute later with Katya’s assistance. She’s already peeling off her shorts and shirt while Katya remains fully clothed, and begins palming at her silk underwear that matches her bedding.

The material is soaked through - Trixie knows that she’s going to have to throw them away, along with the other countless pairs that she’s ruined in the previous two weeks - and Katya grins at the sight of her, needy and powerless. Trixie looks fucked out, she notes, and it’s driving Katya up the walls because she’s hasn’t touched Trixie, yet, and she’s not going to until she decides that Trixie’s learnt her lesson.

“Listen to me-“. Katya demands, draws Trixie’s gaze upwards as she settles on the bed, kneels at Trixie’s feet.

“-I need you to know a couple of things, ok?”.

“Ok”.

“ _Good_ ”.

Katya grasps ahold of Trixie’s ankles with a delicacy that she wasn’t aware that she harboured. She sets Trixie’s feet flat against the mattress, repositions her legs until they’re bent at the knees, spread widely so that Katya’s able to see where Trixie’s swollen lips are peaking out from her skimpy underwear. She licks her lips, hums satisfyingly when her focus zones in on Trixie’s already puffy nipples that Trixie’s pinching between her thumbs and forefingers.

“I’m not ‘gonna touch you, got that? You’re drunk and, _yeah_ -”. Katya starts.

“- _But_ , I’m not ‘gonna stop you from touching yourself”.

Trixie gapes up at her at her words, drops her hands from her breasts. Katya watches as they spread out across her chest, bounce and jiggle as Trixie shifts herself further up the bed, so that her back is pressed to the pillows that are gathered at the headboard. Katya follows her, nuzzles herself into Trixie’s side that’s vibrating with anticipation. She presses a singular kiss to Trixie’s cheek, observes Trixie’s right hand gliding down the expanse of her body.

“I can touch myself?”.

“ _Mhm_ ”.

Trixie does.

She pulls her panties down, so that they bunch at her knees and then her ankles. She kicks them off with ease, sends them flying over the edge of her bed and to the itchy, carpeted floor. Katya chuckles mockingly in her ear when the scent of Trixie’s arousal floods her nostrils, and presses her lips lower, to the pulse point that’s thrumming out of Trixie’s neck.

Trixie’s touching herself within seconds, rubbing across her clit that juts out from beneath its hood, begging to be circled to its release. Trixie’s half way to doing so when she incorporates her free hand, curls her middle and ring finger up inside of herself, against her walls that clench tightly in response. It feels good, indescribable, and Trixie knows that it’s not going to take much for her to come, knows that she’s teetering on the brink until -

“Stop”.

“I- What?”.

“I said _stop_ ”.

Trixie listens.

She can feel the flutters in her stomach, the pulsations in her core that are threatening to make her come untouched, triggered simply by the soft, wet kisses that Katya’s pressing continuously to her neck, shoulder, chin. She take three deep breaths, centres herself amidst the knowledge that Katya’s not going to let her come. _Again_.

“Good girl”.

It’s been over two weeks.

*****

Trixie finds herself drifting off into a slumber that’s simultaneously peaceful and uncomfortable around thirty minutes later, when Katya slips beneath the silk duvet cover next to her.

She knows that she’s still drunk, can tell from the occasional tremor that wracks her body. It’s beginning to ache every time that she rearranges her limbs against the sheets, intertwines her legs with Katya’s that she can tell are stubbly with blonde regrowth. The sensation is grounding, as is Katya’s breath that’s warm against the back of her neck when she settles, hooks an arm loosely around Trixie’s waist.

“Hey, Trix?-”.

Trixie simply hums.

“-We’ll talk about this tomorrow”.

Katya swears she’ll stick to her words.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Trixie-“. She mumbles into the shell of Trixie’s ear.
> 
> “-That webcam doesn’t do you justice. Jesus, fuck”.
> 
> Mewling, Trixie palms at the hem of Katya’s tank top, lifts it until Katya has to detach herself from Trixie in order to tug it over her head, send it falling to the floor where it lands on top of Trixie’s discarded towel. It leaves Katya naked from the waist up, and Trixie pulls them back together, chest to chest, before Katya’s able to protest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is, a lot, make sure to check the updated tags. 
> 
> i can’t think of much to say apart from thank you so so much for all of your support, and i hope you enjoy this one too! 
> 
> feel free to scream at me in the comments <3

Trixie is hungover.

She feels she’s like dying - it’s possibly an exaggeration but she doesn’t care - as she’s sat at brunch next to Katya, Sasha and Shea across from them on the picnic table style bench. They’re at the café that’s situated across the street from their apartment building, the one that Trixie’s always complained is too gentrified for their neighbourhood because of its cacti lined windowsills and tapestry adorned walls.

Katya’s always told her that she’s _stupid_ for thinking it. The owners have written out the menus that are hung above the counter by hand, scrawled in pink and white chalk that Trixie can see has faded in patches where the sun beams catch it. Each table is different too; there are diner style booths in the rear of the establishment and glass patio tables that take up the space outside of the building.

It’s fitting, Katya thinks, is aware that the atmosphere is crafted so that it matches the music that they play from the phonograph that’s kept behind the counter. It emits soft jazz and acoustic instrumentals that Katya knows that Trixie appreciates, as well as the pastries that she enjoys.

Trixie’s inhaled two of them so far this morning, one vanilla and one orange that had left her stomach in a state that she didn’t care to acknowledge, along with a glass and a half of a freshly blended mango smoothie. She had sipped it as she prayed, longed for the thumping headache that had sprung on her drunken body over night to disappear, drift of into the smog of the early morning sky that’s still grey, bleak.

It didn’t work.

Trixie’s still hungover, and is resting her head on the cool brick wall that’s to her right. She wants to bury herself in it, in the sense of relief that it provides her with, but then Katya’s prodding her in the side, causing Trixie to wince. Katya gives her a glance that screams annoyance, impatience, and it momentarily has Trixie feeling like the roles that they’ve unwittingly taken on in the previous weeks fave flipped and reversed.

It lasts for mere seconds, because Katya’s pointing across the table then, ensuring that Trixie diverts her gaze towards Shea and Sasha. Trixie follows the line of Katya’s finger before she drops it, looks lazily through the lenses of her oversized, blackened sunglasses. They help to soothe the sting that forms behind her eyes whenever she focuses on the light within the room that’s bright, too argent for her bleary pupils to take.

Trixie clears her throat.

“Did I miss something?”.

“Nothing much-“. Sasha chimes. She’s sipping at a mimosa that’s been poured from a larger jug into the old mason jar that she’s clutching in her left hand. Trixie thinks it might be her third, or fourth, and finds herself wondering how Sasha’s able to tolerate the alcohol after the night before.

She feels almost sick to her stomach, as does Shea judging by the the grimace that’s settled upon her face at the sight of Sasha finishing off the remainder of the concoction in her glass. Herself and Shea had drank the most if Trixie’s recollections are the slightest bit accurate, she knows, compared to Katya and Sasha who had been able to moderate their consumptions.

Trixie envies them.

“-Just the _entire_ conversation”. Sasha adds, causes Trixie to cower in embarrassment.

Rolling her eyes, thankful for the shields that the lenses of her sunglasses provide, Trixie slumps her shoulders, settles on the hard bench. Shea looks on apologetically, mouths _sorry_ around her paper straw. Trixie shrugs her shoulders and relents - she doesn’t show remorse - and raises both eyebrows in a manner that she hopes will encourage Sasha to repeat what she had missed when she had involuntarily tuned out of the conversation at hand.

Sasha seems to get the hint with ease, and is setting her now empty glass down onto the bamboo coaster with a dry thud. She licks over her lips nonchalantly, and then throws a smirk across the stack of plates in front of them, sends it bouncing between Trixie and Katya.

“The two of you”.

“The two of _us_?”. Trixie checks.

“That’s what I said, yeah”. Sasha begins talking to Trixie in a way that Trixie assumes she would talk to a young child, slowly and mocking. Trixie doesn’t blame her - she knows that she’s out of it, doesn’t have the effort within to pretend that she isn’t - and shrugs her shoulders in a half hearted response.

Trixie can see Katya shuffling closer to her in her peripheral vision, is able to feel the warmth of Katya’s body when Katya slides her thigh up against Trixie’s own. She’s slightly sweaty from the humidity of the city, despite the air conditioning that’s being pumped into the room, though it’s irrelevant to Trixie when Katya’s glancing up at her, placing her hand on Trixie’s knee that pokes out from the lengths of her blue sundress.

Katya smiles reassuringly, and Trixie thinks that she gets it, finally, when Katya squeezes at the lower portion of her thigh, purses her lips and knits her eyebrows together hopefully.

“What about me and Katya?”. Trixie sighs.

She feels exasperated already, though it’s barely eleven in the morning. She tells herself that she has every right to be with the way that Sasha, and now Shea, are staring her down as if they have their lives bet on it. Their glares are piercing, and she’s shifting under the intense weight of them, whereas Katya isn’t. She’s sat composed, calm and collected, and Trixie’s contemplating digging her nails into Katya’s hand that’s still perched on her thigh to evoke a reaction.

Trixie doesn’t do it, instead braces herself against the beech wood of the table that feels as if it’s rocking, akin to a boat that’s caught in the incoming tide. Trixie wishes that she could steer it to shore, but then she’s opening her mouth, preparing to question Sasha further as Shea intervenes.

“Did you two, _y’know_ -“.

“No”. Trixie interjects.

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask”.

“The answers still no”. Running her hands through her tangled hair, Trixie pushes her sunglasses up onto her head. She squints at the bright light at first, but comes accustomed to it when a truck parks outside the café window, blankets them in a shadow that Trixie hides under. She peers up at Shea, rubs at the delicate skin beneath her eyes with the pads of her fingers that turn a murky black from her left over, smudged mascara.

It’s disgusting, Trixie knows, but then Sasha’s huffing in disbelief, glancing between herself and Katya once more. Katya still doesn’t flinch visibly, merely grips Trixie’s thigh tighter as Sasha’s scrutiny intensifies to new heights that Trixie didn’t believe existed, picks up her mug that’s still filled to the brim with creamed coffee with her free hand.

She sips at it, and gulps it down as Sasha searches the crystal balls of her eyes for answers, Shea eyeing the lines of Trixie’s hands that are planted on the table as if she’s able to read her palms. Trixie flips them at the burn that her irises cause, and settles them on her lap; one clutches Katya’s hand and the other grasps at her own thigh with trimmed fingernails.

“What Shea’s asking is-“. Sasha drawls, taps her nose and signals secrecy.

“-Did you fuck?”.

Katya’s hand is travelling further up Trixie’s thigh - Trixie can feel Katya’s little finger brushing up against the edge of her comfortable cotton panties - and Trixie resists the urge to shift once again in her seat.

Trixie scrunches up her eyes, is blinded by the light that infiltrates the room once again as soon as the truck that was briefly parked on the sidewalk outside moves, and is forced to slip her sunglasses back down to cover her watering tear ducts. She sniffs too, snaps her neck in Shea’s direction when she hears the girl mumble a faint _they fucked_ , because Trixie knows that they didn’t and it’s driving her insane.

As is Katya’s hand.

Her mind is busy, occupying itself by telling her body that she feels too drained to be turned on in the moment, too hungover to give in to the sensation of Katya’s fingertips that are _tapping tapping tapping, pinching pinching pinching._

Trixie still feels like she’s dying, as if she already might just be dead when her thighs clamp together around Katya’s hand, and send her knees canting upwards into the underside of the table. She winces audibly at the bruise that she knows is going to form across the cap of it within the coming days, and blocks out the noises surrounding her when she hears Shea snicker.

“Oh my god we didn’t-“. Attempts Trixie, only Sasha’s crass chuckle follows.

Trixie looks back and forth between Sasha and Shea, and then Katya who’s taken it upon herself to begin smirking identically to the two sat opposite. It’s a feeling of betrayal she thinks, or maybe it’s annoyance towards Katya’s defiance that she insists on following through with. Her hand continues it’s ministrations, dips under the seam of Trixie’s panties occasionally until Trixie’s left panting in disbelief, reaching to pour herself a mimosa that she swore she wouldn’t drink.

She merely gives up.

*****

By the time that the afternoon rolls around, Trixie finds herself perking up.

Her mood rises with the sun that grows to be elephantine, sits weightily between the cotton clouds that appear few and far between during the peak of summer. They’re scattered in crumbs by the time that Trixie arrives home a little before five o’clock, her arms ladened with brown paper grocery bags.

Katya’s at her side too - they’d spent the remainder of the day running errands that they’d needed to do for too long, chores that had accumulated without their realisation - with stacks of her text books on linguistics tucked underneath her chin.

Trixie unlocks the door to their apartment for them, manages to do so successfully, only loses a bag of bananas along the way. She picks them up once she’s tucked the tarnished key back into the pocket of her sundress, and hurries towards the kitchen so that she’s able to drop the bags onto the kitchen counter. They land with a small thud - Trixie’s certain that one of their jars of peanut butter hasn’t survived the trip home - and sighs with relief as she shakes her arms loose.

They ache, like the rest of her body still does to some extent, and she catches sight of Katya’s pitiful gaze that’s fixated upon her face. She’s already set her books down onto the minuscule kitchen table, has caused the linoleum cloth to crinkle, and is moving back to stand stoically next to Trixie. Her hands begin unpacking the grocery bags with ease; the first one is filled with toiletries, soaps and shampoos that Trixie wants to drown her skin and hair in, along with a new lotion that Katya had bought impulsively.

She sets said products down onto the kitchen table, next to her books that are an eyesore to Trixie. They’re thick stacks of paper that smell of the old library on campus, gathering dust that has accumulated throughout the years. The one on the top of the pile is titled phonetics, and Trixie guesses that the remainder cover topics such as _grammar, syntax, dialect._

It’s not something she cares to understand.

Katya’s emptying the second out of four bags, and Trixie shakes herself out of her preoccupied state in order to assist. She takes out the two cartons of juice, one mango and one orange, and stands them in the compartment on the inside of their fridge door. She makes sure to store the eggs on the bottom shelf and the tomatoes on the top, before she’s being whacked by the icy chill of the freezer that she opens to re-freeze their sugary strawberry ice cream that’s melted on their way back, she’s certain.

The condensation coating the tub tells her that she’s right.

They continue unpacking in silence. Katya stacks the chocolate chip cookies in the corner of one of their cupboards, and Trixie’s relieved when she digs out the new jar or peanut butter, finds that the glass packaging is completely in tact. She folds the paper bags up once she’s emptied them, sets them aside in the top drawer so that she’s able to reuse them; she’s a stickler for living environmentally.

Her actions make Katya chuckle, but then she’s raking her eyes up and down the length of Trixie’s body, walking towards their living room couch and beckoning Trixie closer with a come hither motion of her fingers.

“Trixie, come sit”. Katya husks, pats her lap with both of her hands.

Trixie can feel bile rising in her throat, the blood that had thawed out in her body throughout the day reheating, travelling to her core. She gulps, takes the most minuscule step that she can muster towards Katya because she knows that this is it - they’re going to talk and talk and talk and possibly fuck - and Trixie doesn’t know if she’s prepared herself enough.

Her chest vibrates with her uneven inhales and exhales, as does her stomach, her legs and her arms. Trixie doesn’t know how to control it; Katya’s looking at her with an air of finality that Trixie wishes she didn’t harbour, despite knowing that she’s brought the entire situation on herself.

It’s because she wants it, really. She needs Katya’s hands on her hips, her lips on her neck so that they suck tender marks that she’ll be unable to cover with clothing or concealer. She needs Katya’s thighs on either side of her own, clenching around Trixie’s waist that dips, and then swells again at her breasts. Trixie needs it all, even wants Katya to fuck her with her ever growing collection of toys that she’s garnered throughout the years, her newest plug that had arrived just says prior.

Trixie knows that Katya has toys too. She’s spent many a night fantasising about Katya fucking her into the mattress with the strap on that she knows Katya owns - she’d told her about it during one of their numerous candid conversations - and is able to imagine Katya’s hands wrapping around her neck, cutting off her airways briefly.

She sits down onto Katya’s lap.

Katya loops her arms securely around Trixie’s waist as soon as she does so, presses the pads of her fingers to the small of Trixie’s back, through the sweat dampened material of her sundress. Trixie shifts uncomfortably, moves her legs so that she’s facing sideways, her feet planted flat on the soft fabric of the couch.

Humming, Katya places a kiss to Trixie’s freckled shoulder.

“I said we’d talk-“. She notes, draws Trixie’s attention to her honest eyes.

“-So were ‘gonna talk”. Katya affirms.

Trixie nods her head into the space between them, flickers her eyes between Katya’s lips and her orbs that are glistening, reflecting the red of one of their throw pillows on the couch. She blinks once, cocks an eyebrow at Trixie who’s still yet to respond, is instead chewing agonisingly at the inside of her cheek.

She nods once again - it feels repetitive, she wants to kick herself for it - and diverts her gaze for a brief second in order to observe Katya’s hands that have moved from around her waist to rest innocently on Trixie’s knees.

“Talking-“. Trixie coughs. “-Talking is good”.

“Talking is the _best_ ”. Katya breathes earnestly.

She’s looking up at Trixie with a look that’s overwhelmingly familiar, comforting and warm. It’s the same way that Katya’s always looked at Trixie, with idolatry and an understanding that’s been unrivalled since they met. It reassures Trixie instantaneously, because they’re friends, first and foremost, despite the new developments that Trixie’s beginning to relish, the budding dynamic that’s blossoming akin to the peach flower on the tip of the cactus that’s sat potted on the coffee table.

Trixie feels like she’s boiling from the inside out, and Katya’s the flame that keeps on igniting her, striking a match under her ass that she shifts against Katya’s thighs. She wants to keep boiling, wants to simmer over the edges of her pot that she can feel scorching at the base, thanks to Katya’s hands that are gripping her bare knees.

It’s an innocent touch, lacks the deviance that Trixie knows sits in Katya’s bones, but Trixie knows that it’s about to change when Katya squeezes once, allows Trixie to tangle her fingers in the strands of Katya’s hair.

“I know you’re not new to all of this, so I’m not ‘gonna treat you like you are-“. Katya starts.

“-But it’s new to _us_ , so I ‘wanna just, ask you some things, yeah?”.

“ _Yeah_ ”.

Trixie’s ready. She leans into Katya’s space, into her touch that’s intoxicating, more so than the lethal vodka sodas from the previous night. She thinks briefly that Katya has her equally as drunk as the drinks did, though admits to herself that it should have been expected from the teasing that Katya’s kept up for hours, days, _weeks_.

Katya looks up from under her thick, mascara coated lashes. They’re blonde at the roots, and match the natural blonde of Katya’s hair that’s wavy and slightly frizzy from the humidity that they’ve been unable to avoid since spring had struck, transformed into a blazing summer. Trixie wants to feel them against her skin, and contemplates pressing featherlight kisses to Katya’s eyelids before Katya takes a preparatory breath, nudges Trixie’s hands away from her hair.

“You have to focus, alright?”.

“I’m focused”.

Trixie isn’t really. Katya fixes her with a glance that Trixie knows isn’t to be messed with, and Trixie’s left with trembling fingers that she settles on Katya’s shoulders. She digs them into the muscles that she finds there, her tendons that flex each time that Trixie’s nails scratch tantalisingly across her skin. Trixie’s not sure why she does it - she doesn’t understand whether she wants to irritate Katya like she knows she can, or allow Katya to take the control that she’s certain Katya will snatch out of her hold regardless - and relents when Katya tilts her head microscopically.

“I’m ‘gonna make you come today, got it?”. Katya addresses, has Trixie nodding in agreement.

She needs it.

“I - _yeah_ ”. Trixie stammers.

Katya hums her acknowledgment. She moves her hands back to Trixie’s hips, then up to her waist that’s exaggerated by her slumped position. Katya splays out her fingers, pulls Trixie’s body closer to her own with a singular tug. Trixie’s body follows Katya’s silent commands, and Katya giggles airily, causes Trixie to release a high pitched, nasal keen that has Katya grinning wildly.

“you want that, huh? I know it’s been a while since you last came”. Taunts Katya.

It’s been over two weeks.

The fact draws a groan from Trixie’s lips, because Katya’s right - of course she is, Trixie snorts - and she’s smirking mockingly up at her. There’s a softness that’s still present in her eyes that Trixie’s thankful for; it reminds her that this is Katya, her Katya that she’s aware knows her better than every other human being that’s ever walked the earth, stepped into Trixie’s life.

It eases Trixie’s rapidly beating heart, stops her from fidgeting when Katya presses her nose into Trixie’s soft upper arm, brushes it back and forth against the barely visible sun kissed blonde hairs that litter the area.

“Tell me how you feel about safe words, baby-“. Katya steers the conversation.

“-I want you to set them, you’ve ‘gotta know that if you need control back then you can take it whenever you want”.

Trixie tells her.

She tells her about her preferred words with a heart that’s full on Katya’s care, her want to ensure Trixie’s safety. She feels swaddled in a blanket of adoration and admiration that Katya’s hand sewn, stitched together with her bare fingers that are pushing Trixie’s sundress up to her waist, slipping into the crotch of her panties.

Trixie can already feel Katya‘s sharp wit unravelling each stitch, cutting them loose from the seams of Trixie’s sole existence. She doesn’t mind it, has always had a weakness, a reverence for things that appear as dishevelled on the outside as Trixie knows that her inner self control is.

It feels fitting.

“So-“. Katya drawls, once she’s certain that she’s digested Trixie’s requests.

“- _Pink_ means you’re good to go, _purple_ is for a break, and _black_ is stop right away. Have I got it right?”. She concludes, her voice exploding with pride.

She knows she has it right; Katya’s more attentive than anybody that Trixie knows, and she’d be surprised if Katya couldn’t have predicted Trixie’s words of choice before she had even exhaled them with quivering lips, pleasure surging throughout her body from Katya’s hand that’s still pressing against her throbbing clit beneath her panties.

It has Trixie whimpering further, nodding her head in response before she’s even able to register Katya’s words that slip in through one ear and out of the other, the one that Katya’s not busy breathing hotly against. Trixie ducks her head into her chest - she knows it’s making her double chin protrude unflatteringly, her nostrils flaring to match - and bucks her hips up into Katya’s hand.

“Katya-“. She mewls, twists in order to push her chest up against Katya’s.

“-I, I want you to ruin me”.

Katya’s eyes darken and narrow at her words, and Trixie knows that she’s flicked the switch inside of Katya’s brain that she’s been scouring for for days, maybe weeks. It feels like an irreversible change, but Katya’s grinning wildly, gleefully, retracting her hand from Trixie’s panties and pulling her sundress back down so that Trixie’s left just as highly strung as she was before Katya had begun touching her.

“Here’s what’s ‘gonna happen-“. Katya drops her voice.

It makes Trixie listen more intently than she has been, causes her to whip her head upwards in order to bump her nose up against Katya’s. Katya murmurs her name in response, a soft _Trixie_ that has both girls dripping, throbbing impatiently, and Trixie’s forced to endure the pain of Katya’s nails that have moved to encircle her wrist, digging into the skin of them.

“You’re ‘gonna go and take that shower that you want, and put your favourite plug in ready for me. I’ll get some stuff from my room and meet you in yours as soon as your done, understood?”. Her voice is teasingly menacing.

“Understood”.

Trixie’s up and off of Katya’s lap within seconds, trotting on uneasy legs out of the living room, down the corridor towards her bathroom. she leaves Katya sat stationary on the couch, unmoving as she listens to the pipes in the apartment chug to life, begin filing with Trixie’s shower water. Katya pictures her mind functioning similarly, with the cogs turning and getting her to transport herself off of aforementioned couch, eventually, towards the set of drawers that she keeps next to her bed in her room.

Katya digs around in the bottom draw, beneath stacks of old essays; none are graded below an A. There are toys, an amalgamation of dildos and vibrators that she’s used on herself and past flings, a strap on that she neglects to pick up in lieu of her two silk scarves and metallic nipple clamps.

She smiles down at them. It’s a sight that she can imagine would appear to be stupid, crazy to any onlookers, but she can’t find it within herself to care. There’s not a care in her entire universe apart from what she’s about to embark on; fucking Trixie like she’s always wanted to do. She’s getting to kiss her like she’s been longing to since they first met, when Trixie was still sleeping with Bobbie and katya struggled to keep up with the blurring lines of friendship and sex that she’d never had to navigate before.

Trixie goes beyond blurring the lines. She erases them completely, with her brattish behaviour and occasional hedonism that she exudes. Katya’s struggled to find it a trait that she deems to be attractive in others, but Trixie can make arrogance alluring, and deviance delectable because she’s soft, beneath it all, soft for Katya and even softer for her tender adorations that Katya showers her with.

 _Showers_.

Katya perches herself delicately on the edge of Trixie’s unmade bed as she waits for Trixie to emerge from said shower. She listens as the water comes to a halt, hears the glass door open and Trixie step out of it with a nameless tune tumbling in hums from her mouth. Trixie wraps her still dripping body in a towel, let’s down her hair from the makeshift bun that’s slipped down to the crown of her head, left the ends of her strands damp and curly.

She dries herself off until she’s no longer leaving wet footprints on the tiled floor, though doesn’t reach for the underwear that she’s set out on top of her bathroom counter, the lace bra and panties that she had planned on pulling over her thick hips.

Trixie doesn’t need them.

Katya’s in her bedroom, waiting for her - it’s a thought that she’s indulged in for too long - and she knows that she no longer has the patience to put the inevitable on hold for another minute or two that it would take her to pull on the skimpy garments. They’d only be peeled off in a matter of seconds, anyway, Trixie tells herself, and she’s stepping out of her bathroom and into her bedroom, clad in merely her towel and a layer of rejuvenated confidence.

It lasts until her eyes lock with Katya’s.

Katya stands to attention as Trixie enters the room, straightens her back and allows her arms to dangle loosely at her sides. Trixie thinks that Katya looks lost, out of place in her own skin when she’s taking two steps closer to Trixie, taking both of Trixie’s hands in her own. Trixie doesn’t know how she does it, but Katya gathers herself rapidly, as soon as her chest presses up against Trixie’s, through Trixie’s fluffy towel and her own sheer tank top.

The look in her eyes intensifies, and Trixie watches it happen through her own orbs that are heavy lidded, already drooping in anticipation of Katya’s fingers untucking the corner of her towel, allowing it to drop to the carpeted floor at their feet.

She doesn’t have to wait long, only until Katya searches her face for the approval that Trixie grants her immediately, with a single nod of her head and a mumbled _take it off._

“Are you sure?”.

“So, _so_ damn sure”.

Trixie is a vision, when Katya pulls the towel away like Trixie encourages her to, drops it to the floor with a gentleness that it didn’t require. Her eyes rake themselves up and down Trixie’s body, from Trixie’s heaving breasts to her knees that are littered with bruises. Katya knows that Trixie’s clumsy, and giggles to herself at the sight, though has to stop herself from ravishing trixie on the spot.

She’s a vision, Katya repeats, has the words blasting from a megaphone that’s locked away in a safe in the back of her mind. She’s vibrating with the want that she harbours for Trixie, who’s standing there proudly, like she can already see the drool that’s gathering unwittingly in Katya’s mouth, about to trail down her chin.

Katya detaches her hands from Trixie’s, works them up her forearms and to her shoulders where she squeezes, draws Trixie closer to herself until she can feel Trixie’s hardening nipples pressing against her décolletage through her tank top. She whimpers at the feeling - Katya kicks herself, she’s meant to be the one with the self control in this situation - and rests her nose against Trixie’s cheek.

“Trixie-“. She mumbles into the shell of Trixie’s ear.

“-That webcam doesn’t do you justice. Jesus, _fuck_ ”.

Mewling, Trixie palms at the hem of Katya’s tank top, lifts it until Katya has to detach herself from Trixie in order to tug it over her head, send it falling to the floor where it lands on top of Trixie’s discarded towel. It leaves Katya naked from the waist up, and Trixie pulls them back together, chest to chest, before Katya’s able to protest.

Katya has no complaints, and gladly allows Trixie the momentary control that she seeks when she kisses her deeply, threads her hands into Katya’s already dishevelled hair as Katya’s own hands make their way down to cup Trixie’s ass. Trixie shifts on her feet, groans into the space between Katya’s white teeth when Katya slips her fingers between both cheeks, presses on the gemstone end of Trixie’s heart shaped plug.

She makes a note that Trixie had listened.

Trixie makes an attempt at stabilising herself, though she can’t find the energy within when Katya lifts one hand, pulls it away and slaps it back down onto Trixie’s ass with a force that makes Trixie’s eyes fill with tears. She pulls away from the kiss with a helpless groan, and Katya’s smirking up at her because she knows she has Trixie wrapped around her little finger with only a nip of her teeth on Trixie’s earlobe.

“Bed-“. Trixie nods over Katya’s shoulder. “-Please”.

Katya’s not going to deny Trixie the opportunity to rest her legs, and hums approvingly, detangles herself from Trixie so that the taller girl is able to take the three or four steps that she requires towards the elevated bed. She hikes her leg up, crawls onto the bed so that when Katya trails after her, Trixie’s ass is the centre of attention in the frames of her eyes.

Her back dips, and Katya reaches out to press on it, sends Trixie’s back arching further. It causes her ass cheeks to spread, and Katya’s groaning aloud when she splays her hands across them, massages the soft globes with calloused palms. Trixie whines at the treatment; she can feel her plug that’s still nestled in her ass shifting with each caress. It burns deliciously - it’s her biggest one, the most bulbous - but she feels full, like she desperately needs to, and doesn’t dare flinch when Katya presses at the base once again.

“Look at me-“. Katya husks, takes a step backwards. “-Stay on your knees and look at me”.

Trixie lifts her head, cranes her neck over her shoulder so that she’s able to watch Katya as she undoes the clasp of her shorts, glides them down her tanned legs with ease. She steps out of them, kicks them to the side before she’s stepping forward once again, thrusting her hips up against the swell of Trixie’s ass. Trixie groans - Katya’s not wearing underwear, she can feel her trimmed pubic hairs brushing against her outer lips - and sinks her head back into the pillows that she’s bunched up.

“Remember that private session you asked _Red_ for?-”. Katya questions, hears Trixie’s responsive groan that’s muffled.

“-How does it feel to finally be getting it?”.

Her tone is obnoxious, but Trixie’s quick to throw out her attempt to crush it when she slides her eyes up to meet Katya’s from where her head is still buried in the sheets, blinks once slowly. She clears her throat, bumps her ass back against Katya’s hips that don’t budge with her efforts, instead grow stronger.

“I’ll let you know when you actually fuck me”. Trixie tries.

Katya tuts, shakes her head in dismay, though ultimately ignores Trixie’s jibe so that she can shove Trixie to be laying flat on her stomach, her ass being the only part of her body that’s still elevated. Katya plants her hands on it, spreads her cheeks wide as she manoeuvres herself to kneel on the bed between Trixie’s parted legs. She sits back on her calves, clocks the droplets of sweat that are gathering in the small of Trixie’s back, and is leaning down in order to lick it up before she can stop herself.

It’s salty, and overwhelmingly Trixie, but Katya’s lapping it up, dragging her teeth across the barely visible notches of Trixie’s spine, down to her ass cheeks where she digs them in, leaves behind a symmetrical bite mark. She lifts herself back up then, wraps the tips of her fingers around the base of Trixie’s plug, begins wiggling it teasingly.

“I’m ‘gonna take this out, alright?-“. Katya checks, awaits Trixie’s go ahead.

She gets it within seconds.

“-Hand me the lube”. She concludes.

Trixie reaches across to the bedside table that’s an arms length away, ignores the nipple clamps and silk scarves that have her blushing furiously in order to pick up the bottle of clear lube, toss it down the bed towards Katya. Katya hums gratefully, and Trixie focuses on the sound of the cap opening, and then the bottle being squeezed. The plastic ripples, and Trixie’s certain that Katya’s coating her fingers with it, but she doesn’t care to notice when she’s pulling the plug out of her ass too, setting it down on the bed next to Trixie’s hip.

Katya’s mouth gapes at the sight of Trixie’s clenching hole now that it’s empty, begging to be filled again, and chuckles lowly so that Trixie knows.

She circles her two lubed up fingers against the rim of it, keeps Trixie’s ass cheeks spread with her free hand. She can feel Trixie’s body practically vibrating - she hasn’t even used her actual vibrator on her yet - and murmurs Trixie’s name soothingly so that she relaxes further, stops tensing up her back.

Katya sighs, relieved when she does so, and slips her two fingers into Trixie’s well prepared ass. The tight ring of muscle entraps Katya’s fingers, draws them in down to their bases as Katya curls them, pulls a guttural moan from the depths of Trixie’s stomach.

“Oh my god-”. Trixie breathes, furrows her eyebrows in pleasure. “- _Oh my god_ ”.

She’s barely got Katya’s fingers on her, just about inside of her, and she’s already losing her mind. She knows that she’s not going to be able to hold on to the straws of reality that she’s clutching at with weakened fingers, isn’t going to be able to starve off her orgasm that Katya’s beginning to work her towards with every crook of her fingers and gentle slaps to Trixie’s rapidly blistering ass cheeks.

Trixie can’t help the string of moans that tumbled freely from her lips, into the pillows and the sheets beneath her. She feels like she’s on fire, has gone past the point of boiling from the inside out and is instead being doused in gasoline, being lit by the matches of Katya’s touches.

“You like that? _Hm_?”. Katya queries, expects little to no response.

She’s proven right when Trixie simply groans unintelligibly, thrusts herself back onto Katya’s fingers so that Katya’s knuckles bump against her tail bone, send Trixie into a reinvigorated frenzy. Katya doesn’t think she’s ever witnessed anything more desirable, and whacks her free hand down harder than she has thus far; Trixie’s ass ripples with it.

“Do you think you can come from just me fingering your ass like the filthy slut that you are?”.

Trixie’s still whining from Katya’s slap that’s left her ass stinging - she knows it’s going to be inexplicably sore the following morning - and doesn’t register Katya’s words until Katya’s forced to repeat herself. _Twice_.

“I- I think so”. Trixie’s words are garbled, breathed into her arms that she’s moved to rest, crossed beneath her head. She looks comfortable, too comfortable to Katya, but it’s not what Katya wants yet, and she’s dragging her fingers out of Trixie’s hole with no friction at all. She’s stretched out and lubed up, and Katya wants to dip her tongue into it, feel Trixie clenching around her, before she’s ripping herself out of her own thoughts, grasping roughly at Trixie’s hips.

“Turn over”. She demands, flips Trixie onto her back with an ease that makes Trixie drip, grow wetter, pool between her thighs, down onto the bed sheets that are darkening briskly. The moan that Trixie releases when her smarting ass meets the mattress travels throughout the entirety of their apartment, and Katya briefly feels sorry for her neighbours before she doesn’t, because Trixie’s laying there in front of her, looking fucked out before she’s even properly begun.

“I don’t want you to come like that. I ‘wanna use some things on you, is that alright baby?”. Katya strokes her hands from Trixie’s bent knees, up to her inner thighs and then to her waist. She moves so that she’s hovering over Trixie, her hair creating an indestructible barricade around the both of them. Trixie rubs her fingers though it, and Katya’s forcing herself not to grin dumbly at the innocence of her touches, because she knows that Trixie’s so on edge that she’s willing to do anything to fool Katya.

Katya’s smart, she tells herself. _She is_.

“Please, mama”.

“Use your words, be a good girl”. Katya uses the seconds that it takes Trixie to respond to reach to the bedside table, picks up the items that she wishes to use. Her fingers wrap around the cool metal of the nipple clamps, and the contrasting suppleness that she swoops against Trixie’s bobbing throat for good measure. She displays them proudly to Trixie, bites the rosé coloured fabric between her front teeth, licks over it enticingly.

“Pink-“. Trixie snivels. “-Fucking _pink_ ”.

Katya takes it as her signal to continue; Trixie wants this.

She takes her time, latching the clamps onto Trixie’s already engorged, puffy nipples one by one, ensures that they’re not too tight by asking Trixie for her words once again. She responds with _pink_ both times, and Katya nods her head, bends her body in order to lick across the swollen nubs that she’s positive could cut glass, or at least the skin of Katya’s cheek that she grazes across the both of them.

Trixie keeps her eyes closed throughout - Katya’s aware that she’s trying with all her might to regulate her erratic breathing - and only opens them when she feels the silk scarf brushing up against her wrists that are resting helplessly on the pillows each side of her head.

Concern flashes through Katya’s eyes at Trixie’s blown out expression, though she knows when Trixie murmurs _pink_ for the fourth time in a handful of minutes that she’s got her approval. Katya’s glad for the communication that flows easily between them, akin to their relationship that has always functioned equally as seamlessly, she knows, and threads the scarf effortlessly around Trixie’s wrists, secures the ends to the metal frame of the headboard.

She encourages Trixie to tug at them for good measure. It’s futile - she knows she’s tied them off well enough, is certain that they’re not going to slip as Katya fucks her like she plans on doing - and Trixie’s left squirming, squeezing her own thighs together. It doesn’t succeed in relieving an ounce of the pressure that’s amounting in her core, much like Katya’s featherlight touches that she administers to Trixie’s outer lips moments later, her fingers shaking.

“How many fingers do you think you can take? I know you like to be stuffed full, don’t ‘ya?”.

Trixie does.

She wants two of Katya’s fingers, three or four of Katya’s fingers, Katya’s whole hand. She knows she can take it - she stretches herself out with her most girthy dildos often enough to know that she’ll be able to accommodate Katya’s hand and wrist with no more than a burn that she’ll love and a few bucks of her hips - and spreads her legs further; for Katya.

“All of them-“. Trixie whines, her voice cracking when Katya slips two fingers easily inside of her. She’s dripping around them, sopping, watering down onto the sheets beneath the creases of her thighs when Katya curls them, presses her ring finger in along side them. Trixie feels the extra stretch, though it’s not enough to make her come. She knows it and Katya knows it, and guesses that it’s why Katya manoeuvres herself so that she’s straddling Trixie’s thigh.

She grinds down onto the cellulite covered muscles, and whimpers noncommittally when she tucks in her little finger. Trixie is tight around her, tighter than Katya had thought she’d be and it’s bewildering, because Trixie feels perfectly immaculate against her, as if she’s remained untouched for years by the hands of others that Katya can’t help but picturing.

Trixie pulls her in further.

It’s the point at which Trixie feels like she’s stuck in limbo - lodged between being fucked gently and allowing Katya to ravage her like she wants to - and Trixie continues with her unintelligible rambles.

“-All of ‘em”.

“My whole hand? Is that what you want? You’re _disgusting_ , Trixie”. Katya taunts.

Nodding her head, Trixie agrees. She’s disgusting, filthy, is a whore and a slut who doesn’t deserve to come ever again, needs Katya to keep her on edge like she has been for weeks, not touching her the way that Trixie’s silently begging for.

Trixie can feel Katya all the way up in her chest when Katya folds her thumb into her palm, presses forwards with a determination that Trixie’s certain certain is going to fill her to the brim. Katya pushes her tapered hand further, and then Trixie’s opening is swallowing it up, seizing around her flexing wrist that she twists to position comfortably, sends Trixie’s hips bucking before they halt. Trixie allows her eyes to flutter closed briefly, but then they’re opening again, and she’s pulling Katya’s free hand off of her hip and up to her breasts.

“Mama-“. She sobs. “-You’re fuckin’ my pussy so well”.

“Yeah? Is that so?”.

Katya is. She’s slinking her hand from where she’s begun tweaking Trixie’s clamped nipples, up to her sweaty chest and even sweatier neck. Her fingertips slip against it, brush away the droplets so that she’s able to hold Trixie’s neck securely.

She glances up at Trixie’s widening eyes before she tightens her grip, mumbles use your words so that Trixie knows what Katya’s openly hinting at. Trixie breathes pink in response - Katya knew that she would, though isn’t above double, or triple checking - and Katya’s pressing down on Trixie’s windpipe, causing Trixie’s eyes to cross in a hazy state of blissfulness.

“You can come whenever you want-“. Katya nods, watches Trixie’s hand scrunch into fists from where they’re still restrained by the silk scarves.

“-I’m not ‘gonna make you wait any longer”.

Trixie cants her hips down forcefully at Katya’s words, and Katya can feel her throat bobbing against her hand as she swallows, licks across her lips that are drying with her heavy, restricted breaths. She can feel her walls contracting around Katya’s fist, her wrist that Katya keeps fucking in and out of her slowly, and knows that she’s seconds away from coming; it’s brewing in her pelvis and her clit that catches against Katya’s wrist every time she pulls out, pushes back in.

She can’t hold on, but there’s a pressure in her core that’s distracting, and her mind is discoursing instantly from Katya’s slickness against her thigh and Katya’s breath that’s hot on her shoulder.

“Purple-.” She husks, elevates her voice so that she’s able to squeak out the word through the constraint that Katya’s exerting on her windpipe, her throat. It’s not the hardest that she’s ever been chocked, not by a long, but it’s there, and it’s making her heady, bleary eyed and dazed.

“-Shit shit, _purple_ ”.

Katya’s hand is lifted off of her throat within an instant, but Trixie’s already shaking her head, trapping Katya’s fist inside of her by clamping her thighs together. Katya’s eyes are wide - Trixie knows that she’s confused, hurries to fix the nondescript situation that she’s inadvertently caused - and she strokes the fingers that had previously been wrapped around Trixie’s throat through the blondes matted hair.

“Are you-“. Katya gulps. “-Are you ok?”.

“I’m-“. Trixie inhales deeply, clenches her inner muscles around Katya’s hand that’s come to a standstill inside of her. She nods rapidly, mumbles a keep moving in order to maintain a hold of her orgasm that’s approaching her like a freight train, taking over her core and her legs and the entirety of her body.

“-I think I’m ‘gonna squirt”.

Her words have Katya grinning, because Katya knows already. She can feel it in Trixie’s walls, the upper section that’s grown noticeably rougher as she’s fucked Trixie thoroughly. She knows a squirter when she’s fucking one; Trixie’s indicative of that, it’s in the way she contracts around her, clutches tightly with all of the strength that she can muster that’s dwindling as the seconds tick by.

Katya wants her to squirt. She needs Trixie’s wetness on her hand and her arm, in her mouth and down her throat because she doesn’t care about the bed sheets, the inevitable mess that she knows is going to be unavoidable.

“We can change the sheets, ok baby?”. Katya reassures.

Her voice is soft, but Trixie doesn’t respond, is preoccupied with the intensity of the feelings that are building within, thanks to Katya’s hand that’s begun moving again. It’s intoxicating - she’s drunk on shots of Katya Katya Katya - and she’s coming in minutes like she’s needed to for weeks, spraying out across Katya’s arm, down onto the bed sheets that absorb the puddles of Trixie’s wetness.

“Oh my god-“. Trixie groans, it echoes around the room.

“- _Yes_ , keeping fucking me”.

Katya does.

She swears that she’s not going to stop until Trixie’s reached her breaking point.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s looking back at her already, her pupils blown wide in the rapidly darkening room, and nods her head encouragingly. Katya can feel Trixie giving her the ounces of courage that she’s never lacked before, through her fingertips that are running through Katya’s hair, fixing her disheveled bangs that are windswept, unkempt. 
> 
> It’s all that Katya needs. 
> 
> “I was just thinking that we could maybe-“. Katya inhales raggedly. 
> 
> “-Try doing the whole cam show thing? Like, together this time?”. She finishes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome back! 
> 
> this ch is the last and the most out there, so please read the updated tags cautiously!! 
> 
> thank you all so much as always for all of your support and once again i hope you enjoy!! 
> 
> feel free to let me know your ~thoughts~

It’s six months later, the height of winter when Katya suggests doing a cam show together. 

She brings it up cautiously, over a dinner of reheated Chinese food that had been left over from the previous day. Trixie microwaves it, adds some extra salt that she swears will make Katya forget about the fact that it had sat out on the counter top all night, and plates it in their old bowls that are chipped around the edges.

Katya sets said bowls out on the coffee table in the living room, waits for Trixie to dig out a handful of bottles of beer and pre-sliced limes from the whirring fridge. She flicks on the television in the time that it takes her, and watches with nervous eyes as Trixie crosses the floor, places the opened bottles down onto the glass of the coffee table with a soft clatter.

The noise makes Katya flinch - it pierces her ear drums in a way that she despises, wishes momentarily that they’d kept their old wooden table instead - but Trixie doesn’t seem to notice, is busying herself with drawing the curtains, hopes that they’ll block out the light of the golden hour.

It doesn’t work.

Warm orange still infiltrates the room, makes Katya’s oily forehead and highlighted nose glimmer reflectively, causes Trixie’s minute silver hoop earrings to bounce rays of sun around the four walls. It’s something that Katya’s never come to appreciate; she’s lived in California for almost four years and still misses how dusk is calmer on the east coast.

She blinks in pinks and purples, tinges of green that don’t disappear when she glances up at Trixie who’s lowering herself to the couch, swigging back a hearty gulp of the beer that’s bobbing with two segments of lime.

Katya gulps along with her.

She picks up her own beer once Trixie settles herself, neglects taking a piece of lime. She wants to taste the bitterness, feel it harsh in her throat as her eyes adjust to the sight of Trixie, her golden blonde hair transforming into Trickles of honey against the chocolate of the couch.

Trixie’s a vision, ethereal, even as she balances her beer bottle between her crossed legs, leans forward to retrieve both hers and Katya’s bowls of food. She shovels forkfuls of noodles into her mouth inelegantly, and Katya fights against the grin that threatens to arise to her cheeks, make her lips stretch wide; she’s in love with everything that Trixie does.

Katya knows that it’s too domestic.

It’s _too domestic_ , but she can’t find the strength within to care about when their relationship shifted or why it did so when Trixie finishes her food minutes later, kicks her feet up on the couch, across Katya’s lap as she drains her first bottle of beer for every drop that it has.

Katya looks up at her from under her eyelashes, reclines against the back of the couch that cups her spine with ease. She sighs, discards her mostly demolished bowl on the arm rest of the couch as Trixie tucks the tips of her sock clad toes between Katya’s thighs.

“You were right-“. Admits Katya.

“-I almost completely forgot about the inevitable food poisoning we’re going to end up with”. 

 

Trixie screeches out a laugh - it’s sharp, though still doesn’t match up to the earlier sound of glass clinking against glass - and sighs when Katya begins massaging at her calves. They ache, from hours on end of rehearsals at the theatre, and Trixie’s glad for Katya’s soft touches, the more forceful ones that she applies to areas that she can tell Trixie’s over worked.

“You’re really good with your hands, y’know”. Trixie mumbles.

“Tell me something I don’t know”. Katya scoffs, digs her thumbs into Trixie’s ankles, feels the bones and muscles shift beneath them.

Trixie rolls her eyes, albeit mockingly, and sighs in pleasure when Katya moves her caresses up towards Trixie’s knees. Rubbing at the backs of them, Katya pays close attention to the way that Trixie’s breath hitches in her chest, occasionally her throat which causes her to cough in order to clear it. It’s relaxing; Katya matches the rhythm of her own inhales and exhales to Trixie’s, dares Trixie with knowing eyes to change the pace.

She doesn’t, instead removes her legs from Katya’s lap, manoeuvres herself instead to straddle Katya’s thighs, one leg either side of her waist. Katya’s arms clamp around Trixie’s waist wordlessly, pull her down so that their bodies are flush against one and other. Trixie smirks bashfully, ignores the uncertain expression that’s made its way to Katya’s face in lieu of kissing at the soft skin beneath her eyes.

Her kisses travel lower - Katya can still smell the chilli on her breath, the beer dripping off of her tongue - until they reach Katya’s jaw. She pecks once, twice, stops with a sudden halt and a whine when Katya remains stoic, stationary, unmoving.

A frown creases between Trixie’s eyebrows.

Katya worries her bottom lip between her teeth, shakes her head dismissively at Trixie’s questioning scowl. There are words dancing on the roof of her mouth, the edges of her tongue and her Cupid’s bow that’s twitching, trembling unwittingly. She licks across it, hopes that it’ll stop, though is drawn out of her stupor by Trixie mumbling her name.

 _Katya_.

“I wanted to talk to you about something”. She admits shyly, her gaze wavering from Trixie’s.

Trixie’s certain that she already knows.

“Ok-“. Trixie nods, sits back on her haunches.

“-I’m listening”. She confirms.

Katya swallows hard, kicks herself for having not downed the other two bottles of beer that still sit full, untouched on the coffee table. It’s irrational; she’s making an issue out of nothing, she knows, though listens to the whispers in the far corners of her subconscious that remind her that she’s sober - she’s never dealt well with anything sober, tells herself that she’s working on it - and diverts her eyes back to Trixie’s once more.

She’s looking back at her already, her pupils blown wide in the rapidly darkening room, and nods her head encouragingly. Katya can feel Trixie giving her the ounces of courage that she’s never lacked before, through her fingertips that are running through Katya’s hair, fixing her disheveled bangs that are windswept, unkempt.

It’s all that Katya needs.

“I was just thinking that we could maybe-“. Katya inhales raggedly.

“-Try doing the whole cam show thing? Like, _together_ this time?”. She finishes.

Trixie can’t help the way her mouth curls into an instantaneous smile. She’d mentioned it to Katya twice before - once when they’d first started sleeping together, another when Katya had mentioned Trixie’s inactivity online half way into the relationship - and both times Katya’s interest had progressively grown, mounted to the curiosity that’s aflame in her being, pouring out of her in dregs of fire.

Katya no longer looks as uncertain when she catches sight of Trixie’s grin, and allows Trixie to burry her face in the crook of her neck once more. She peppers the skin that she finds there with kisses, grazes her teeth across Katya’s collarbones that jut out enticingly.

A shiver wracks her body.

Trixie’s been anticipating the question since the first time she found herself whispering drunkenly to Katya about her affinity for performing, fucking herself for an audience of strangers. She understands that it’s a turn on for Katya too, to proudly display Trixie to faceless names, distant individuals that she’s never going to have to encounter outside the frame of her laptop screen.

It’s why she’s nodding her head when she lifts it once more, gives Katya immediate confirmation that _yes, of course they can._

They will.

“Is this what you’ve been so flustered about all day?”. Trixie simpers.

She leaves Katya feeling as if their unspoken rolls have been reversed, flipped out of their dimension and into the next. She doesn’t mind it - part of her enjoys the dominant streak that she knows Trixie harbours, a part that’s thus far remained unexplored, an uncharted area - and is nodding her head, a blush rising to paint her cheekbones.

“Baby-“. Trixie coos.

She grinds her hips down against Katya’s, draws a whimper from her already parted lips that are slathered with Vaseline, and braces one hand each side of Katya’s head. It means that Katya’s bracketed in against the back of the couch, unable to move more than an inch with Trixie’s weight on top of her, and she’s left itching for _more more more._

“-I’d love to, you know I’d fuckin’ love that”. Trixie husks.

Katya doesn’t understand what she was ever concerned about.

*****

Winter in California doesn’t mean much, Katya’s come to realise.

The temperature outside barley drops ten degrees, allows her to continue wearing barely there shorts on warmer days and her favourite loose pants on the milder ones. The air remains humid, hot, be it January or July, and Katya’s grateful for it when it means that they’re gifted with little rain that’s nothing but an inconvenience; she knows the impending drought would argue otherwise.

Trixie treats it much the same. She’d grown up in the Midwest, where summers hit hard but winter hit harder, in full forces of wind, gales, snow. It’s left her unused to the perpetual heat, and she finds herself clothed in merely a tank top, a pair of light wash mom jeans on what is apparently suppose to be the coldest day of the year thus far.

She’s sat in a café that herself, Katya, Sasha and Shea frequent on a semi regular basis - it’s half an hour further away than the one across the street from their apartment complex - sipping at the last remaining drops of her iced late as she waits for Katya to return from the bathroom.

The owner of the place bustles past Trixie with a friendly smile - it’s the most welcoming place Trixie’s found in the whole state - and hurries to the rows of house plants on display in the window, petite metal watering can in hand.

Trixie watches her soak each individual cactus thoroughly, doesn’t have the heart to tell her that she’s probably doing them more harm than good, and diverts her gaze when Katya sits back down opposite her, hands Trixie a fresh iced late in a to-go cup. Trixie frowns; she’s already drank two, knows that she doesn’t need a third, and cocks a questioning eyebrow in Katya’s direction.

Katya simply shrugs, smirks devilishly as she hands Trixie a paper straw, striped red and white. Trixie unwraps it delicately, places it through the hole of the cup and takes a singular sip. It’s sweet, sweeter than the previous two, and she knows without asking that Katya’s had the barista add an extra shot of caramel for her sugar loving tooth.

Everything clicks in Trixie’s mind. _Drinking. Being full. Denial. Humiliation_.

She’s ready.

It makes her smile when Katya glows with pride, asks Trixie in a timid voice _if it’s good_. Trixie nods her head, hooks her ankle with Katya’s beneath the table. Her actions have Katya grinning further, before she’s pursing her lips, willing herself to stay silent.

“It tastes like an ice cream”. Trixie hums around her straw.

“Like it?”. Katya checks.

“Mhm, refreshing”. Trixie notes. 

Katya laughs despite herself, finds herself unable to comprehend how an iced late, a syrupy coffee could be refreshing. She knows that if she drank more than one she’d be feeling nauseous, full on foam and whipped cream, but gives Trixie the benefit of the doubt when she continues slurping it through her straw, mumbling contentedly.

“Drink up-“. Katya urges, fluffs her bangs with the tips of her fingers.

“-We’ll have to head home soon”. She concludes.

Trixie knows.

It’s a Friday, the end of a long week that’s left Trixie drained, longing for her bed - the bed that she shares with Katya - and the bliss that comes with sleep. She wants Katya’s kisses and touches after not being granted them all week, five long days that have stretched into years in Trixie’s mind. Trixie knows that it’s not Katya’s fault, much like she knows it isn’t her own, is more than aware that they’re adults, grown women who have jobs and careers and errands to run on a daily basis.

She knows that it’s unavoidable.

Life works her to the core sometimes, chips away at her bones that are already fragile, fractured and fragmented into shards that cut into her heart, her lungs. Trixie doesn’t complain most days, allows the universe to diminish her to a speck of dust, in comparison to the starry enigma that she sees herself as, and draws herself back to _now_ , Friday, with Katya eyeing her knowingly.

It’s uneventful and predictable, archaic and mundane; only it’s not.

They’ve chosen aforementioned _now_ , Friday, to do the joint cam show that they’ve been planning down to minute details, arranging over cups of herbal tea and coffee. Finally, Trixie thinks; it’s been weeks since Katya had suggested it to her, tipsy on lime infused beer and left over Chinese food. 

She knows what Katya has planned, for the most part, is beginning to understand the aspects that she didn’t a number of hours ago with each passing second. Katya keeps telling her to drink drink drink, mumbles no no no when Trixie tells her that she needs the toilet, her stomach bloated from her bladder that’s fuller than she thinks it’s ever been.

Katya doesn’t care.

She knows that Trixie can hold it. She’s done it before and she will do it again, because she knows that Trixie loves it, irregardless of the blush that’s stamped permanently across her cheeks whenever Katya denies her, takes each opportunity to humiliate Trixie in ways that get the both of them off. 

Trixie wants her to do it.

Katya orders Trixie to drink the remainder of her drink at snails pace, and makes her sit and dwell for a further ten minutes once she’s drained it for all of the sweetness that it’s able to offer her. She watches Trixie shift in her chair as the café continues to revolve around them, takes pity on her momentarily when she groans, whimpers, twists herself away from Katya’s foot that’s begun pressing against her stomach beneath the table.

She halts her ministrations when the watch on her wrist shows six in the evening, knows that if they don’t leave soon then they’ll be caught in the rush hour traffic; it’s the last thing that Trixie’s going to want. She stands abruptly, is wordlessly followed to the door by Trixie, and then out of it to the street where she hails a cab within minutes,

Trixie’s clinging to her side; the sun has already set and she’s staring Katya down with dark irises, fluttering eyelashes as she links their arms, pulls Katya closer towards her in the back seat of the cab.

Katya doesn’t argue, instead slides across to the middle seat, traps Trixie between her own body and the window that’s fogging up rapidly. She loops one arm around Trixie’s shoulder, uses the other to apply a continuous pressure on Trixie’s stomach, feels her grow increasingly restless as the cabs engine chugs to life, coasts across uneven roads and pot holes.

Chuckling, Katya places a tender peck to Trixie’s temple.

She can see Trixie’s eyes beginning to swim with pained tears, even in the barely lit cell of the cab, and soothes Trixie’s insistent whines and hiccups with garbled words of encouragement. It works for a handful of minutes, succeeds in easing Trixie’s concerns of things becoming too much, of pissing herself like the disgusting slut that she tells herself that she is. It works, until the drivers whipping the cab around a tight, narrow corner, causing the back tyre to catch on a curb.

It makes Trixie jump and cry out.

“Could you drive a little more carefully?!”. Trixie bites, throws her head back against the headrest. 

The cab driver laughs coldly, shakes her head as she continues driving in the same manner. It’s ruthless - Trixie swears that she purposefully drives worse in order to aggravate her - and Katya apologises on her behalf, mumbles _I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry_ into Trixie’s hair.

“Hey, atomic blonde back there-“. The driver addresses; Katya knows that she means her.

“-Control your girl”. She grunts.

Katya’s trying. She peers between the two front seats, is able to make out the drivers name tag that she has dangling from her mirror. She’s written her name in block capitals, in dark black marker that she’s accentuated with a roughly drawn peace symbol and a sticker that’s half peeling away.

 _Kameron_.

She looks to the driver herself, then, takes in her hooded sweatshirt that she’s cut the sleeves off of, allowing her heavily tattooed and muscular arms to breath freely, along with her dyed black hair that she has tucked behind her ears. It’s cut to her shoulders in a short bob, and Katya knows without so much as flickering her focus back towards Trixie that Kameron is Trixie’s idea of a wet dream; it’s evident in the way her breathing wavers.

Trixie is tensing next to her, clenching her thighs - Katya forces them apart with the hand that had once been pressing against her stomach - and she thinks that she’s got minutes before she’s losing control, pissing her jeans and soaking the soft fabric of the cabs seats.

“Katya-“. Trixie mewls, fights against Katya’s strength.

“-I’m ‘not gonna be able to make it”.

“Oh, no? ‘Gonna piss yourself in front of me _and_ the driver?”. Katya taunts.

She speaks loud enough so that she’s certain that the driver will hear her, will understand that Trixie’s losing her mind, her concentration, trapped in a moving coffin with two women that she’s able to picture fucking her, degrading her like the scenarios she conjures up in her fantasies. Kameron snorts in the drivers seat, mumbles _the driver has a name_ under her breath, and pulls off onto the final street that leads to their apartment complex.

“No-“. Trixie shakes her head rapidly.

“-No no no”.

It’s too late; her body gives in, releases the tension that’s been building steadily since the morning, and she pissing, into her lace panties and onto the pale denim of her jeans. They darkenon the patch between her legs immediately, and then she’s flinching with a yelp, stopping the flow painfully. It hurts, Katya knows that it does, but Trixie’s disobeyed her, has let herself down, too, and is being observed through the mirror by Kameron, an unmistakable mixture of revolt and pity clouding her features.

“Pathetic-”. Katya deadpans.

“-You couldn’t wait two more minutes?”.

Trixie couldn’t.

“I’m sorry, mama”. She sobs, buries her head in Katya’s chest.

Kameron snickers from the drivers seat, turns up the volume dial on the radio with one hand and directs the steering wheel with the other. She winks at Katya through the rear view mirror, nods towards Trixie when the car grounds to a halt, parks up in one of the numerous allotted parking spaces in the lot outside of their apartment complex.

“Is she always this bratty?”. Kameron questions, receives a brisk nod of confirmation from Katya.

“Always. Sometimes she’s even worse”. Katya responds.

She feels Trixie’s nails dig into her wrist, and barks out a laugh when Kameron whistles lowly, points to the mileage counter on the dashboard of the cab; the total amounts to twenty dollars. Katya hands it over to her, adds a tip that she deems to be generous from the crumpled up bills in her pocket and unbuckles both hers and Trixie’s seatbelts.

“You’ve got yourself a good one there”. Kameron calls once they’re out of the cab.

Trixie’s clinging to Katya as if she might fall, crumble to gravel on the sidewalk in her damp underwear, her sodden jeans, and Katya bellows back her thanks. She watches Kameron drive off once she’s rolled down the windows, sounded her horn, and begins walking Trixie towards the door of their apartment complex, hand planted securely on the small of her back.

_She’s got herself a good one there._

*****

Once they reach their floor, Katya walks Trixie out of the elevator, into their apartment, and directly to the bathroom.

She strips Trixie of her ruined jeans, throws them in the laundry basket that sits in the corner of the room, along with her underwear and her tank top. Her panties are wet with a mixture of her own wetness and piss - Katya had already known that the humiliation had turned Trixie on beyond what she had expected it to - and she blushes furiously as Katya backs her up against the cool tiles of the shower wall.

Katya rids herself of all of her clothing too, switches on the luke warm flow of water that pours from the shower head, across Trixie’s chest and down to her core. The artificial strip light on the ceiling above them bathes their skin in warmth, forces Trixie’s eyes to scrunch up and then open once again, acclimate to the harsh brightness.

It means that Katya’s able to work quickly; she ties Trixie’s hair up into a high messy bun for her, does the same with her own once she locates a hair tie that had been hiding behind their countless bottles of coconut scented shampoo and conditioner.

She drops to her knees after doing so, slots herself between Trixie’s open thighs, cranes her neck in order to glance up the length of Trixie’s body. Her eyes meet the pouch of Trixie’s stomach firstly, all soft skin, supple and adorned with stretch marks at the hips, before they travel up towards her breasts that are heaving, swollen and peaked with puffy nipples.

Trixie looks beautifully fucked out - it’s maddening, Katya hasn’t even begun - and Katya thinks that she’s the most ethereal, statuesque being that she’s ever had the pleasure of laying her eyes on. She’s touching Trixie, Trixie lets her touch her, keeps their well practiced safe words tucked away in the corner of her mind for when she might need them.

_Pink. Purple. Black._

Katya whispers Trixie’s name into the patch of Trixie’s blonde pubic hair, matted with her own wetness that’s slick, sticky between her thighs. Trixie braces her palms against the tiled wall, arches her back into Katya’s touch as Katya place one, then two, then a third lingering kiss to Trixie’s clit that’s peaking out from beneath its hood.

Trixie whines, half in discomfort and half in pleasure, grumbles pink when Katya fixes her with a menacing glance. She knows that Trixie’s still in pain, needs to relieve herself as much as she did in the cab, possibly more so with the way that she’s beginning to double over, her hands weaving themselves into Katya’s hair.

They tangle at the roots, pull Katya’s face closer to her throbbing centre, but Katya’s strong enough to pull away, does so with ease and a teasing smile that becomes apologetic when a tear rolls from Trixie’s eye, down her cheek and drips off of her jaw.

“Trixie, baby, listen to me-“. Katya demands.

“-You have to come for me first, ok? Come and then you can go. I know you need to”. She finishes with a nip to Trixie’s hip bone.

Trixie nods her head wildly at Katya’s words - she understands, needs Katya’s mouth on her _yesterday_ \- and yanks Katya’s head back towards her with amplified vigour. Katya exhales into Trixie’s lips, feels her folds against her tongue that’s lapping against Trixie’s wetness within seconds, curling and dipping inside of her.

Katya settles her hands on Trixie’s thighs, and Trixie’s eyes roll back into her skull. It’s hot; she’s bursting with pleasure that’s amounting in her gut, her pulsating clit, along with the feeling of fullness that’s taken over her bladder. It causes her to clench every muscle in her body, which in turn travails her closer and closer to the orgasm that she’s been chasing akin to a cat and mouse.

Trixie wails, pants, moans, hiccups and cries her way to the edge, is pushed over by two of Katya’s fingers that jam themselves inside of her, curl up and press down on her g-spot so that she’s coming wordlessly, thighs trembling as her held back piss begins to flow freely.

It cascades down her thighs in golden waterfalls, into Katya’s mouth until it overflows, and she’s swallowing in large gulps. Katya hums - she loves everything Trixie, from her sweat to her come and her piss - and grins as the last remaining droplets splay themselves out across her cheeks, stream down to her chest and her breasts that she massages with her free hand.

Trixie is shocked, stunned into silence by the sheer bliss that takes over her body, and rocks her hips against Katya’s tongue twice more before she’s slumping down the wall, sitting on the shower floor in a puddle of her own piss and scorching water from the shower.

“So good-“. She babbles, pulls Katya down with her.

“-So fucking good”.

Katya chuckles to herself, giggles lowly, allows Trixie the moment of recovery before she’s whispering out all of the thoughts that she knows Trixie wants to hear; _slut, whore, filthy, needy, disgusting._

Trixie agrees with each and every one of them.

*****

They dry each other off with towels that Katya retrieves from the clothes dryer, all warm and soft and fresh. They smell of the jasmine fabric softener that Katya uses religiously, and Trixie wraps herself up in one of them as Katya boots up the laptop, logs on to Trixie’s usual website with the details that she’s been given.

It doesn’t take her long to establish an understanding of how the website functions - she’s used it before, albeit as a viewer - and by the time her skin has air dried, Trixie’s already picking out her favourite lingerie set.

The bra is pale pink and lacy, naturally, with microscopic hearts embroidered onto the trimmed edges. The panties match, cover Trixie’s ass and dig into the flesh of her hips with heart shaped petals. They’re pretty, seemingly innocent, and Katya would be fooled by Trixie’s charade of laying herself out nonchalantly on the mattress, tousling her hair across the silk encased pillows is she wasn’t aware that the panties were crotchless.

Trixie makes a show of spreading her legs, solely for Katya, runs the tips of her fingers from her kneecaps to the material of said panties. She hooks her fingers beneath the waist band, pulls and then releases so that the elastic snaps back against her skin, causes her to recoil from her own touches. 

Katya’s eyes widen noticeably as she watches, busies herself with crossing the small room to the drawer where they keep the majority of their toys. She does so in order to avoid glancing back towards Trixie - she has stuff to prepare, an audience to impress - and filters her way through the miscellaneous objects to land on the only items that she predicts she’s going to want to need.

_Strap on. Pinwheel knife._

Trixie knows what she’s immersing herself in, has given Katya her unwavering consent. They have their usual words set in place - pink, purple, black - much like they do whenever they find themselves embarking on something that’s a new territory for either one of one, or an activity that one knows could become too much too quickly for the other. 

It’s a system that Katya’s grateful for, and she allows herself to hum approvingly at the sight of Trixie crawling to her knees, positioning herself in front of the still yet to be switched on web cam. Katya makes her way to join her, smiles encouragingly yet deviantly, and sets down the pieces that she’s gathered next to the laptop that’s glowing, illuminating their bodies where the bedside lamps and fairy lights fail to do so.

Trixie’s facing the camera, but Katya’s facing Trixie, and she uses her leverage to coax Trixie’s head her way, presses a kiss that’s softer than she intended to Trixie’s parted lips; they’re already swollen, pink and bitten.

“I need to know if you’re hearing me right now, ok?-“. Katya tries.

She strokes one hand up the length of Trixie’s thigh and perches the other on her shoulder, receives a singular nod that gives her the go ahead. Katya nibbles at her bottom lip in response, takes it upon herself to continue communicating verbally, knows that Trixie’s past the point of doing so without being prompted.

“-So I can ask you some questions before we start?”. Katya double checks.

“Please”. Trixie approves.

Katya removes herself from the roll that she’s slipped into momentarily, lifts her hand from Trixie’s thigh so that she’s able to plant both of them on Trixie’s shoulders, one on the left and one on the right. She digs her thumbs into Trixie’s collarbones, the soft skin that covers them, ensures that Trixie’s as relaxed as she knows that she’s going to get.

Trixie’s body slumps into Katya’s, her eyes dilated and filled with euphoric tears. Katya knows that it’s not going to take much for them to fall, drip down her cheeks in the same way that they’ve been seeking to do for hours, like they did in the shower, along Trixie’s chest and off of her breasts. Katya knows that it should worry her, and it would if it wasn’t for their understanding of what makes the other tick; Katya’s certain that Trixie’s able to predict her movements before she’s decided on them herself.

“I just need to be sure that this is definitely what you want-“. Katya exhales, cups Trixie’s face tenderly.

“-I know we’ve talked about this but I just, I ‘gotta be sure. I know you haven’t done one of these in a ‘lil while”.

It’s been a couple of months; Trixie’s found herself more invested in her relationship with Katya than she thought she initially would, and set down her love for cam shows on the back burner, erased the existence of the adoring strangers from her mind. It hadn’t felt like a priority, but things are different, somehow, when she’s peaking back and forth between Katya and the screen of the laptop, is able to picture the scene that’s about to unfold before them.

“I want it-“. Trixie hiccups.

“-I want to do this with you”.

Trixie _does_.

It’s all the confirmation that Katya requires; she’s reverting back to the Katya that she knows Trixie needs her to be for the next however long, the Katya that’s commanding, dominant, intuitive to Trixie’s every whine, moan, want and need. She nods her head, let’s Trixie swivel away from her touches in order to press the red button on the screen of the laptop that’s flashing live live live within seconds of it buffering.

Katya’s ready.

The chat floods instantly, like she had expected it to - it had never not sparked to life within seconds whenever she’d watched Trixie perform in the past - and she takes pride in the confidence that it fills Trixie with. There are messages from some viewers that Katya recognises, and others from users that she doesn’t, but Trixie doesn’t seem to pay the fact much attention, is instead grinning into the lens, alerting Katya to her impending introductions.

She inhales deeply, and begins.

“I bet you guys didn’t expect me back on here anytime soon, huh?”. Trixie questions.

**Butchnymph: You’re back! I couldn’t believe it when I got the notification**

**AlexB93: Who’s the cute blonde? Somebody to fuck You so we can watch? I hope so xx**

**Dykeloverr: Hey there beautiful <3**

**Peachnipples: I’ve never watched before but you guys already look like you’re going to be a great time!! Are you dating each other?!**

**Girlsgoneoscarwilde: Trixie! Looking good! I bet that won’t last for long, you already seem fucked out. Has that got something to do with this new girl?**

**Lavenduh: Oh wow**

**Silksinner19: Two bitches, fucking fantastic**

A thrill runs through Katya’s body at some of the messages - bitch, cute blonde, new girl - and Trixie grins at her response, tugs on a strand of Katya’s wavy hair that dangles next to her face. It causes Katya to flinch, has Trixie’s eyes narrowing in anticipation of what’s to come, and lights the chat aflame once more.

Trixie turns back to face the camera, drops her hand from Katya. She smiles teasingly at the viewers, reads one message aloud that calls them both whores and clenches her thighs around each syllable. They’re hot; Katya knew that they would be, she’d once been one of them, embracing her voyeuristic nature in order to watch Trixie fuck herself, edge herself and deny her own body the opportunity to come for weeks on end.

“This is _Red_ -”. Trixie announces, clicks her tongue against her teeth sensually.

“-She’s ‘gonna be helping me out for this one”.

Katya appreciates Trixie addressing her as Red. It fuels her with anonymity, allows her to adapt to a persona that’s unbreakable from through the pixelated screen, a heart icons that people begin sending through the instant that she mumbles a brief _hello_. She breathes exaggeratedly through her nose, nods her regards when Trixie palms at her own breasts, watches her nipples harden and pucker beneath the lace.

“She’s also ‘gonna be the one doing most of the talking, so I hope you guys like her”. Trixie adds.

It’s an afterthought, but she giggles through it, is only cut off by Katya gripping her waist harshly, pushing her onto her back. Katya straddles her effortlessly, and Trixie’s hips buck up into the pressure that Katya’s groin exerts on her, until they halt as Katya shakes her head warningly, tuts disappointedly.

“She’s right-“. Katya husks.

“-She won’t be able to say much at all, so I guess you’re stuck with me”. 

The chat doesn’t seem to mind; Trixie and Katya are positioned to that the camera captures them side on, their profiles backlit by Trixie’s warm pink and white fairy lights that still adorn the headboard of her bed. They talk about how they already love Katya - love _Red_ \- and are glad to see somebody willing to keep Trixie in line, provide her with orgasms that will have her passed out by the end of their session.

Trixie whines, glances up at Katya. Katya can tell that Trixie’s mind has already vacated itself of the idea of being on display to hundreds of prying eyes, has settled back into the habit of waiting to fuck and be fucked, drown in everything that Katya has to offer. It’s evident in the way that she’s breathing please please please like it’s a prayer, a mantra that’s going to make Katya speed up when it’s merely going to achieve the opposite.

Katya needs to remind her.

“Now, baby. You know this isn’t how things work. It’s never going to be that easy for you, you know that right? how could you be so _stupid_?”. Katya taunts.

She can hear the minute, almost unrecognisable dings of the chat every time that somebody tips, a faint beep that shouldn’t draw her out of the moment but does. It’s crazy; there are people paying her to ruin this woman, to ruin Trixie. They want her to fuck her and talk down to her, hurt her in ways that they could only ever dream of from where their sat on the offending side of the screen -

\- and she loves it.

**Peachnipples: I’m already super into this!**

**Girlsgoneoscarwilde: Trixie and Red, that has a ring to it! Care to tell us what you have planned for this slut?**

**Lavenduh: Fuck me this is great**

**Silksinner19: Expect a big tip at the end of this**

**Butchnymph: I never thought this would be something I needed in my life but god, I’m ready. Please tell me you’re going to fuck her with a strap on? We’ve been begging her to do this for months!**

**AlexB93: Oh shit, cute blonde is FEISTY xx**

**Dykeloverr: For everybody asking if they’re dating, they probably are. Look at how they look at each other, it’s so sweet <3**

Katya reads a handful of them out loud to Trixie, slows the pace of her words if Trixie grows restless. Trixie’s neck is tense, her ears peaking and fists scrunching the silk sheets up between her fingers. It wouldn’t surprised Katya if they were to rip, transform into threads that scatter like confetti around the room, decorate Trixie’s blanched skin with veins of pink.

Sighing, she untangles Trixie’s fingers. She takes them in her own hands, before she’s placing them down flat on the bed, Trixie’s arms tight to her side. She mumbles don’t move, and Trixie nods her head; Katya thinks she’s begging to understand the discipline, is working towards overcoming the brattish behaviour that she so often exudes.

Katya picks up the pinwheel knife, then, flashes it to the camera in order to gauge their reactions. It’s positive, immediately, they want Trixie writhing in the delicious combination of pain and pleasure that they know it will provide, need her panting for _Red_ to fuck her.

She’ll do it, Katya decides, once Trixie’s stopped begging with her droning moans and the continuous bucking of her hips. She’s defying Katya’s every command - it’s not surprising, it’s what Katya’s come to expect from her - and the messages in the chat proceed with challenging her to use Trixie, make her forget that she ever attempted to resist.

“I thought you would’ve given up by now-“. Katya jeers, her eyebrows knitting together.

“Can you be a good girl for me, Trixie? Can you? Use your words”. She demands.

Trixie looks up at her, her head pressing backwards into the mattress and her tongue lolling in her mouth. She nods her head, licks across her lips, prepares herself for a potential slap across the face when her hand twitches on the sheets, bumps accidentally against Katya’s thighs that are straddling her waist.

“Pink-“. Trixie chokes on her own words.

“-it’s always pink”.

Katya smiles, turns her attention briefly back to the laptop. The pinwheel knife is still firmly in her grasp, twirling and twisting it between her fingertips that are growing sweaty, damp with desire. She runs it across her own thigh - it’s a show deliberately put on for the camera - and forces herself to remain pocket faces as the prickly needles poke into her skin.

It’s hurts, though not overwhelmingly so. Katya doubts it’ll be enough to even draw a spec of blood, so she presses harder, watches her skin turn white on the image of herself that takes up half of the laptop screen. She still can’t quite believe it; there are people tuning it to watch Trixie, to watch her, _Red_ , and to spend their money on them because they turn them on, get them off, provide them with what they’re unable to find elsewhere.

She likes it, and decides if Trixie will let her then they’ll continue doing it, performing for the loyal viewers that Trixie’s amassed. Her eyes trail across the seemingly never ending string of messages that roll in once more, before she’s honing back in on Trixie, ensuring that the frame of the camera lens captures all of their shared movements.

Trixie appears anxious, yet ready for whatever it may be that Katya’s planning on throwing her way, and doesn’t do much as flutter her eyelashes, begin breathing noticeably heavier when Katya begins running the pinwheel knife tactically across her collarbones.

Katya’s able to see where it irritates Trixie’s skin and where it doesn’t, even in the low light, can make out what areas cause the tears that have built in Trixie’s eyes to break the dams of her tear ducts, flow freely down her cheeks. She lets out a pained mewl - Katya knows that she shouldn’t stop, there’s a patch of wetness growing on Trixie’s panties, turning the fabric a darker shade of pink - and it escalates in volume when Katya changes her direction.

She trails the knife downwards, over the swell of Trixie’s breasts, to the undersides of them that are blooming with a flustered red blush. Katya observes Trixie’s face cautiously, circles the knife around Trixie’s puffy areolas once she’s decided that Trixie can handle it. She works the right breast first, then the left - it’s the one that’s closest to the camera, provides the viewers with better insight - and runs the knife directly over the mountain of Trixie’s sensitive nipple.

It causes Trixie to cry out, screech unrestrainedly out into the room. Katya has no doubt that the neighbours will have heard; Trixie’s loud, unapologetically so, and Katya watches her smirk, even through the pain that she knows must be coursing through her nipple, her breasts that are heavy and swollen.

Katya gives the other nipple the same treatment, tells herself it’s for good measure, and feels her own wetness pool between her already sticky thighs when Trixie yelps once more, continues babbling illegibly.

“Hurts-“. She projects.

“-Hurts _so_ good”.

**Peachnipples: I think I have a newly found kink**

**Girlsgoneoscarwilde: Knife play! Why did I just know Trixie would be into this!**

**Dykeloverr: This buildup is amazing, I can’t wait until you actually make her come! Great job Red! <3**

**Lavenduh: Holy Lord jesus**

**Silksinner19: Hurry up and fuck the bitch**

**Butchnymph: This is the best show you’ve done in so long, I can’t believe you haven’t shared her with us before!**

**AlexB93: Cute blonde is feisty AND caring? Sign me up xx**

Katya reads over the messages slowly, runs the knife over Trixie’s stomach absentmindedly before she’s rising from her position, fitting the forgotten strap on snuggly around her hips and discarding the knife on the bedside table. The straps are red and the attached dildo is a bubblegum pink; Katya laughs at the sight, knows it’s a predictable combination of the both of them.

“Alright, up, on your knees-“. Katya demands, huffs impatiently when Trixie pays her little attention.

“-Oh, you’re not going to listen? Fine”. Katya gives in.

She plants her hands on Trixie’s thick hips, digs her fingertips into the soft suppleness of her skin and flips her, over onto her front so that she’s forced to brace herself on her elbows and knees. Trixie buries her head into mattress, crosses her forearms under her chin as Katya brings her hand down onto her right ass cheek, sharply.

It’s an action that Trixie had been expecting, and is prepared when Katya does the same to the other, watches Trixie’s ass ripple and blister red. Trixie loves it - she feels like she’s one step away from her body giving in entirely, succumbing to Katya’s ministrations - and vocalises her contentment in the most effective way she knows.

She whines Katya’s screen name. _Red_.

Katya growls at the sound of it passing Trixie’s lips, grins at the camera as she spreads Trixie’s ass cheeks. The shape of her handprints are beginning to show on both of them, inflamed and sore, but Trixie doesn’t care, is grinding her hips back into Katya’s touch, feels the head of the strap on bump sporadically against her inner thigh.

The dildo itself is thick, thicker than anything Trixie’s ever taken on camera before. It has more girth than the one that Trixie would often ride if she wished to feel stuffed to the brim - a pink one that would stay weighted to the bed with its thick, bulky base - and worries briefly if she’ll be able to take it.

It’s not excessive in length, maybe seven inches or so that she’s taken before and will take again, but Katya holds no doubt in her mind that Trixie’s wet enough, loose and relaxed enough in order for her to work it inside of her without much effort. She’s proven right when she rubs the bulbous head from Trixie’s puckered asshole to her throbbing clit, through her parted folds that are dripping down onto the sheets below.

Katya juts her hips forwards, watches in awe and amazement as the first half slides inside of Trixie with ease, the muscles of her core fluttering around it, drawing it in further. It only gets tighter as she moves further along, and she’s forced to allow Trixie the time that she needs to stretch out, accommodate the thickness of the silicone that hands low on her hips.

Trixie’s moaning freely - Katya’s not going to stop her, a fleeting glance towards the chat tells her that the viewers adore Trixie’s exhortations - and whines, high pitched seconds later when she slams her hips backwards, feels the whole seven inches bottom out.

They’re skin to skin, the fabric of the harness creating friction against the already abraded skin of Trixie’s ass and Katya’s hip bones. Trixie drops her spine; she’s a perfect arch that Katya presses both hands down onto, feels the muscles of Trixie’s back shifting under the pads of her fingers every time that Trixie clenches and unclenches, grinds her clit against the base of the dildo when she comes to terms with the fact that Katya plans on drawing it out.

“Fuck me-“. Trixie hiccups.

“-Fuck me, Red, hurry up”.

Katya’s seething. Trixie’s impatient, unwilling to wait, and Katya pulls back so that all but the head of the dildo slips out of Trixie. Trixie chases it, but Katya’s strong and Trixie is already fucked out, and puts a pause on her futile attempts when Katya thrusts the strap on back inside of her with a grunt of her own.

“Don’t you _dare_ talk back to me-”. Katya snaps her hips again.

“-I’ll fuck you when I’m ready, got it, slut?”.

“Yes, ‘mama”. Trixie whispers though her tears.

“Good girl”. Katya soothes.

She picks up her pace then, is relentless in the way that she fucks Trixie, the thick dildo dragging in and out of her, come dripping down her thighs and squirt gushing from her whenever Katya pulls out, teases her by spitting on her ass cheeks. Trixie’s silent, drowning in her own pleasure, only letting out meagre whimpers that catch in the back of her throat, mumbles of Katya’s names; _Red_ and _Katya_.

Sweat drips down Katya’s brow, soaks through her bangs and makes them clump together. It’s unflattering, she knows it is, but Trixie’s coming apart under her, because of her, and she’s she’s coming because of the sheer thought of it, the base of the dildo rubbing up against her clit.

Her knees weaken momentarily, before she’s looping her arm around Trixie’s waist, gritting her teeth as her body’s wracked with intense aftershocks. She finds Trixie’s clit with ease, presses down on it as Trixie’s eyes flutter closed - her mascara is running down her cheeks, across the majority of her face - and works her akin to an instrument that she’s mastered.

It takes seconds for Trixie to come, clench down on the strap on as her legs give out. She’s a puddle on the mattress, dripping in sweat like Katya and struggling to regain any sense of coherency, her lungs short on breath.

Katya continues fucking her slowly, peers to the left to the chat that’s raging as she does so. 

**Dykeloverr: Your little signals to each other make me so happy! This just goes to show that sex with the same person just gets better and better <3**

**Lavenduh: I need to go to church**

**Peachnipples: You’re like jelly oh my god**

**Girlsgoneoscarwilde: You’ve ruined her Red, you really should be proud of this!**

**Silksinner19: Where do I find a bitch like this?**

**AlexB93: You should finger Trixie’s ass too, I know she likes that xx**

**Butchnymph: Red! Trixie! You guys should make porn!**

Katya takes in the compliments, finds herself beaming with pride at the knowledge that Trixie’s never been able to fuck herself this well, this thoroughly for them. She knows she’s good, but Trixie’s mumbling amazing amazing amazing under her breath, spreading her legs and opening herself up completely to Katya’s slow, shallow thrusts.

A heady giggle leaves Trixie’s lips as Katya leans over her, the dildo still nestled inside of her, presses her front into Trixie’s back, feels her nipples poking into Trixie’s shoulder blades. She brushes Trixie’s hair away from her face from where it’s fallen over her eyes, into her mouth, and nibbles on the cartilage of Trixie’s ear. It sends a shiver down Trixie’s spine, to her toes and her still trembling thighs, but then Katya’s rising once more, looking to the chat for confirmation of her next move.

“Do you think I should let her come again?”. Katya questions.

The viewers have mixed reactions.

“See, I know Trixie _very_ well, and I think she can take one more, what do you guys think?”. 

It’s unanimous.

Katya continues fucking Trixie, though eases the force and slows the pace, allows Trixie to enjoy the sensations building, climbing to the crescendothat’s more subdued than the first, though equally as mind blowing. Katya keeps one hand on Trixie’s waist, and uses the other to press a thumb against Trixie’s ass hole. It’s engulfed almost immediately, by the tight ring of muscle, and Trixie’s mewling into the sheets, meeting Katya thrust for thrust.

“So deep-“. Trixie comments.

“-I love it”.

Katya knows that she does; Katya loves it too, wishes she could feel Trixie clenching right around her, and slams her hips once, twice, before Trixie’s coming with a garbled _so good_ , urging Katya to switch off the cam show.

Pushing herself away from Trixie, Katya does as she’s told, flips the laptop screen closed after clicking the exit button on the tab. She discards the strap on that’s coated with Trixie’s juices as Trixie catches her breath, and joins Trixie back on the bed moments later, coaxes a pillow under her neck in order to prevent inevitable cramping.

Trixie smiles gratefully, hooks a lethargic leg across Katya’s waist when she lays down next to Trixie, ensures that’s she’s neither hurt or in distress. Katya knows that she’s not once she completes her once over, and wraps Trixie in her arms, begins the routine of their well established aftercare.

She knows that it’s going to take longer, this time - Trixie’s still out of it, unable to respond to Katya in full sentences - and whispers words of praise, tells Trixie that she’s a _good girl_. Trixie revels in the comments that flow from Katya’s mind, leave her tongue in rivers of compassion and appreciation for Trixie, what Trixie does.

Katya’s unable to comprehend it. Trixie has more faith in her than she has in anybody else, and comes around easily when Katya draws them both a bath, bathes Trixie and washes her hair, braids it so that it air dries over night. They drift off to sleep in oversized shirts that Trixie once wore to a theatre club in high school, and they find themselves chuckling unitedly at the connotations behind it; teenage Trixie would have a fit if she knew what adult Trixie would become.

Trixie sighs, hooks an arm around Katya’s waist, rests her head on Katya’s chest that rises and falls evenly. She pecks Katya three times consecutively on the lips before she slips under, reassures Katya that she’s fine, she’s good, she’s _happy_. Katya settles for nodding her head, brushes her damp bangs away from her forehead as Trixie grumbles, begins snoring lightly.

She swears that she’ll return the favour in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> i’m also on tumblr @silvervelour!! come send me asks/messages !


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